s 


FT MERDE 
GenCol 1 



noserve Storage 

Collection 








































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































- 




































































































































l 




















































































































































The fairy waved her wand, and immediately his 
tail began to grow. 


THE 


Emtgtatt Mmtknj 

AND 


OTHER STORIES 


BY 

Mary Helm 

vt 


> * 

1 !)» 


Nashville, Tenn.; Dallas, Tex. 
Publishing House of the M. E. Church, South 
Smith & Lamar, Agents 
1910 




* 


ComtIOHT, 1910 
BT 

Smith & Lamar 


n- 3 y/y/ 


•» 

«> ' ■> *. 

» » 



€ Cl. A 280 72 7 


^ r 2 


p 


j7~HIS little book of stories is dedi - 
vl/ cated to my nieces and nephews 
with loving memory of past days when 
they sat around me eager to hear them 
told and retold. Now, as they read 
them to their own children, may they 
also hold in sweet remembrance the 
past and Aunt Mary’s love! 





CONTENTS. 

Page 

The Longtail Monkey 7 

Trip 21 

Grumpy Growler 48 

The Lost Lamb 56 

Tip and Tim 63 

The Bean’s Life 69 

Karl and Gretchen’s Christmas 73 

Legend of the Christmas Tree 79 

Frank’s Christmas Giving 83 

John’s Victory 88 

Captain Dick 94 

The Mission of Mary Rose 99 

Elizabeth’s Home and the Other Homes 105 

Two Weeks in Camp 112 

A Glad Thanksgiving Day 120 

Margie and Mouser 131 

The Rescue 135 

Baby Robert 139 


( 5 ) 
































































































































































































The Longtail Monkey 

Once, a long time ago, there was a land 
where no people lived, and monkeys had it all 
to themselves, both town and country. In the 
cities they had houses and shops and many 
fine things, and those who lived there thought 
they were much better than the country mon- 
keys, who lived in the trees. But by all, both 
in town and country, there was one thing prized 
more than anything else: that was a long tail. 
The longer it was, the better they were pleased 
and the prouder they became. 

Now, among the country monkeys there 
was one poor fellow who had a shorter tail 
than any of the others. Whether this was an 
accident or his own fault, I don’t know, and 
his neighbors did not care. They showed him 
no sympathy, but looked down upon him with 
scorn, even those whose tails were only an 
inch or so longer than his — possibly, indeed, 
these were the most scornful of all. Some 
taunted him with his misfortune by calling 
him “short-tail monkey” whenever they saw 

( 7 ) 


8 The Longtail Monkey 

him ; others were so indifferent that they 
passed him by without speaking at all. Even 
the little monkeys pointed their paws at him. 



Even the little monkeys pointed their paws at him. 

Some, to be sure, spoke rather kindly, but they 
were so patronizing that it was even worse 
than if they had not spoken at all. 

He had a hard time, you see, and was very 
miserable — so miserable he wished that he had 
never been born, unless he could have been 
born with a long tail. He was thus left to him- 
self, this unfortunate monkey, and as he sat in 
his lonely tree his heart grew very hard and bit- 
ter, so that he hated all the other monkeys and 


The Longtail Monkey 9 

wished he could do them some dreadful mis- 
chief. 

At last one day his misery was so great 
that he ran off into the dense woods, and, 
throwing himself down on the ground, began 
to weep and lament his sad fate. Presently a 
fairy monkey came along, and said kindly: 
“You poor fellow! what makes you so wretch- 
ed?” 

This kind tone surprised and pleased him so 
much that he sat up and told the fairy all his 
troubles, saying as he finished : “I can never 
be happy without a long tail.” 

“Are you sure that would make you hap- 
py?” the fairy asked. 

“Very sure.” 

“Then you shall have your wish. I will 
give you as long a tail as you want.” 

So saying, the fairy waved her wand over 
him, and immediately his tail began to grow. 
The astonished and delighted monkey watched 
it growing longer and longer. 

“Make it longer than any monkey's tail ever 
was !” he cried. When that length was reached 
he shouted with joy, but said: “Make it Ion- 


10 The Longtail Monkey 

ger ! longer ! — ten times longer than any mon- 
key’s tail ever will be !” 

Soon it was so long that when he climbed to 
the top of a high tree it touched the ground. 
“Make it longer still !” he screamed. 

The fairy looked sad and said : “You fool- 
ish, greedy fellow ! is not that long enough to 
make you happy?” 

“No, no; longer! longer!” 

So the fairy continued to wave her wand 
and the tail to grow and the monkey to cry, 
“Longer! longer!” until it was a half mile 
long and he could not see the end of it. Then 
he stopped for lack of breath, and the fairy 
flew away; but he was not satisfied, and kept 
wishing it was a whole mile long. 

After a while he went back to the grove 
where he lived, every step of the way look- 
ing back at his tail and growing prouder and 
prouder of its length. Having a long tail had 
not changed his heart ; he still felt very bitter 
toward those who had illtreated him, and was 
determined to return all their scorn and un- 
kindness. Thus filled with hate and pride, he 
was no happier than he had been before. 

As he came near the other monkeys spied 


The Longtail Monkey 11 

him and his tail too, and with wonder ex- 
claimed to each other : “Who is that with such 
a wonderful tail ?” 

“He looks like the short-tail monkey, 
doesn’t he ?” 

“It is surely he; but where did he get such 
a long tail ?” 

With his head held high in the air and a 
most scornful look on his face, the monkey 
went up and down and across the grove until 
he was sure that all had seen his beloved tail. 
Wondering and envious, but deferential, the 
whole troop gazed upon it. Some tried to 
speak to him like old friends; others bowed 
respectfully. But he spoke to none; was 
haughty and indifferent to all. 

Having finished his parade, he sought the 
highest tree and gazed down proudly at his 
tail coiled in a great heap at its root. There 
he sat day after day, lonely as ever, since he 
now refused the companionship that once had 
been denied him — sat there full of pride and 
hate and unhappiness. 

The other monkeys envied him, wishing 
their tails were as long as his, but they did 
not love him any better, though there were 


12 The Longtail Monkey 

some who held themselves ready to receive 
any advance he might condescend to make. 
These, when they were in his hearing, called 
him “The honorable longtail monkey” and 
other terms of admiration. 

After a time, having looked down upon his 
neighbors so long, the monkey began to think 
his long tail had made him really better than 
they, and that they were unfit for his society. 
So he said to himself : “I will not stay among 
these low, ignorant monkeys with their short 
tails. I will go to the city where, I hear, they 
have longer tails and I can find suitable society. 
I will live in fine style there and be happy.” 

Not a single word of good-by did he say to 
any one, but started off — not wagging his tail 
behind him, like Little Bo-Peep’s sheep, for it 
was far too long to be wagged, but dragging 
it slowly through the woods like a great, long 
snake, and down the road toward the great city, 
of which he knew nothing. 

In good time the monkey reached the end of 
his journey, and was delighted to find that his 
long tail caused nearly as much astonishment 
in the city as in the country. Proudly he paced 
along the streets, but as he turned corner after 


The Longtail Monkey 13 

corner he often left his tail far out of sight, 
and felt some inconvenience in keeping it from 
being stepped on or driven over. Several times 
it received a hurt that added a look of pain to 
his proud face. He was indeed growing 
anxious as to how he should manage its great 
length. Presently the fire bells began to ring, 
the engines started out, and the streets were 
full of monkeys running to the fire. He looked 
around eagerly for a place of safety for his 
precious tail. Suddenly he felt it receive such 
a jerk as threw him on his back, and, to his 
horror, he was dragged backward on the 
ground by some power — he could not see what, 
for the end of his tail was around a corner and 
far away. In fact, it was held by the hands 
of a number of boy monkeys, who, never hav- 
ing seen a tail that seemed to have no monkey 
at the end of it, made a mistake and thought 
it was the hose of the fire engine; and so, jerk- 
ing it up, ran with it to the fire. They could 
not hear the angry cries nor calls for help from 
the luckless monkey. On they went, and on 
he too went, notwithstanding his efforts to 
catch hold of tree boxes and lamp posts. He 
was terribly frightened, and hurt too, by the 


14 The Longtail Monkey 

thumps and bumps he got as he struck against 
everything in his way. 

By and by the boys reached the fire, and, to 
their surprise, saw the hose already there pour- 
ing water on the blazing house. “What is this 
we have here?” they cried. 

“It looks more like a tail than anything else,” 
said an old fellow ; “but where is the monkey ?” 

“We don’t know,” they said, throwing it 
down, for nothing could interest them now but 
the fire. 

Being thus suddenly released, the monkey 
lost no time in running away in the opposite 
direction; but his pride had received a severe 
fall, and he found that a long tail cannot bring 
happiness even in the city. In the midst of his 
distress he saw a barber shop with this sign in 
big letters : 


TAILS CURLED HERE. 


“Ah, that is what I need !” he cried in relief. 
"Why did I not think of it before? That 


The Longtail Monkey IS 

comes of my country ignorance. Now, with 
a fine curl to my tail, I shall walk in safety 
and be admired of all.” 

He proudly lifted his head again and, walk- 
ing into the shop with a lordly air, said to the 
monkey barber : “Give me a curl, and be quick 
about it.” 

When the two together dragged in the long, 
magnificent tail, the astonishment and admira- 
tion of the barber were great; but his words 
only fed the vanity and arrogance of the mon- 
key, and he answered so rudely that the barber 
grew angry and inwardly resolved to re- 
venge himself. “How will you have it curled, 
sir — tight or loose?” he said with deceitful 
politeness. 

“Which is the fashion at present?” asked 
the longtail monkey, compelled thus far to 
show his ignorance and thus give the barber 
the advantage over him. 

“Very tight, sir. The longer the tail, the 
tighter it is curled,” said the barber smiling. 

His smile angered the monkey, and he said 
savagely: “Curl mine tighter than any mon- 
key's tail was ever curled.” 

The barber bowed, placed him in a chair, 


16 The Longtail Monkey 

fastened a brass collar around his neck, and 
with a chain secured it to a ring in the wall. 
Thus he made it impossible for his customers 
to escape, no matter how severe the process 
of curling might be. With another evil smile 
the barber heated a large iron, somewhat like 
those the laundress uses, only instead of being 
flat it was hollowed so as to fit the tail when 
it was pressed over it. The iron became very 
hot. Seizing it in both hands, the barber 
clapped it on the root of the monkey’s tail and 
ran it rapidly along its whole length as it lay 
coiled in circles around the shop. 

My stars! how that monkey did yell and 
squall: ‘‘Stop! stop! murder! murder! help! 
help!” 

But the barber never stopped until he 
reached the end. Then, as he lifted the iron, 
the tail coiled rapidly up until it stood like a 
huge watch spring on the poor monkey’s back. 
“You thief ! you murderer !” he screamed at the 
barber as he took off the collar, but his pain 
was greater than his anger as he leaped out 
of the door. 

Alas! his tail was curled so tight he could 
not get his hind feet to the ground. Running 


The Longtail Monkey 17 

as best he could on his 
fore feet, and getting many 
falls, he went down the 
street. In a moment a boy 
monkey saw him and called 
to another: “Look! look at 
that dude ! His tail is 
curled so tight he can’t 
walk.” Then they both ran 
after him. Others joined 
them, and soon a troop was 
at his heels whooping and 
laughing. He scolded and 
abused them, but that only made matters 
worse, and presently they began throwing 
stones at him. Before the police — who, of 
course, were in another part of the city — 
could come to his rescue he was banged and 
bruised all over. 

Relieved from his persecutors, though he 
barely escaped being arrested himself, he 
made his way out of the city and down the 
road by which he had entered it so proudly. 
But, poor fellow! he could not go far. What 
with the dreadful burning of his tail and his 
many bruises, his sufferings were more than 



He could not get his 
hind feet to the 
ground. 


2 


18 The Longtail Monkey 

he could bear; so he lay down by the road- 
side and wished he were dead. 

His moans were heard by the same fairy 
who had given him the long tail. Once more 
she stood by him, and said kindly: “You poor 
monkey! what makes you so wretched?” 

“O, it is all my tail ! Cut it off ! cut it off !” 
cried the monkey. 

“What? cut off your beautiful long tail, 
without which you said you could not be 
happy?” 

“I can never be happy with it. Cut it off ; 
please cut it off,” he begged piteously. 

“You shall again have your wish,” she said; 
and without another word cut it off, leaving 
only a short stump. It rolled off like a big 
ball down the hill, and the monkey never saw 
it again ; but he was glad to be rid of it. 

After hearing all his troubles, the fairy said 
to him: “Go back to your old home, be con- 
tent, let love fill your heart and kindness be 
the rule of your life, and you shall be happy.” 

As the monkey limped sadly along he 
thought of her words, and determined to obey 
her. He knew he would meet with reproaches 
and scorn from his old neighbors, but he could 


The Longtail Monkey 19 

not blame them for feeling and acting as he 
himself had done. “But,” said he, “I shall 
bear it patiently and return it with kindness, 
and perhaps after a while they will pity me.” 
He was so humble now that pity was all he 
asked for. 

Again the monkeys saw him coming; but 
in what a sad plight! A great laugh went 
around. 

“Hello!” they cried. “What has become of 
your tail ?” 

“Did the city monkeys cut it off?” 

“Good morning, Mr. Bobtail! How did 
you like high society?” 

He made no reply to their jeers, but stood 
humbly waiting for them to be through, and 
looking so forlorn and pitiful that for very 
shame they grew silent. Then he said: “Say 
your worst; I deserve it all. I only ask you 
to let me die in peace in my old home.” 

Once more he sat alone in his tree, patiently 
waiting now for death, which he hoped and 
believed would come soon. He did not no- 
tice the unkind derision which at first was 
heaped upon him. At every opportunity he 
spoke kindly to those who came near him, so 


20 The Longtail Monkey 

that gradually their anger was turned away, 
and they began to be sorry for the poor, for- 
lorn creature. The name of “bobtail monkey/’ 
by which he was now called, was after a while 
not spoken unkindly, and he accepted without 
pain the truth it told. 

He did not die soon, as he had hoped; and 
as the years went by his heart grew tender 
and soft, especially toward the little ones who 
were too young to care for tails and such 
things. These loved him, and that made the 
mothers think kindly of him; and at last — 
how it came to pass they could not tell them- 
selves — they all thought and spoke kindly of 
him. When in time the old fellow died, quiet- 
ly and happily, they forgot the painful past, 
and, weeping, said : “We are sorry he is gone, 
for he was a good monkey, and we all loved 
him.” 

So you see it was not what the monkey had , 
but what he was that made him happy and 
won the love of others. 


“Trip” 


“Ned, you have too many dogs about the 
stable; you must give away some of those pup- 
pies/’ said Mr. Harmon, and he walked away 
from the stable, leaving the negro boy to obey 
his orders in any way he thought best. 

Ned looked doubtfully at the litter of terrier 
puppies; then said: “I ain’t got time ter be 
lookin’ fur folks what wants ’em. I’ll jes’ pack 
’em down ter de crick an’ drownd ’em; da’s 
what I’ll do.” 

So without any remorse he gathered up four 
of the puppies and carried them off in a bas- 
ket down the hill to the creek, and tossed them 
one after another far out into the water. The 
poor little fellows made a brave struggle for 
life, but as often as they swam ashore Ned 
tossed them back. Three of them at last sank 
under the cold water, to rise no more ; but one 
found his way to the other side of the 
creek and crawled out on the bank more dead 
than alive. As he lay there, dripping wet and 

(2l) 


22 


“Trip” 


panting for breath, he was a lonesome, pitiful- 
looking object, but he was out of the way of 
the cruel boy. The sun shone brightly, and 
after a little while he warmed up and began 
to look around him. Barking and whining, he 
trotted off to look for his mother and her nice 
warm bed, not knowing he was going farther 
from them every step he took. Soon he came 
to a wood with large trees and green grass. 
He had never been there before, and did not 
know what to do except to keep on whining 
and running first one way, then another. He 
was lost, but he did not know what that 
meant. He only knew he was hungry, and 
as the day went by he was very hungry, but 
he could not find anything to eat. When 
night came he was more miserable than ever 
as he lay in the dark, damp wood, whining 
from cold and hunger, and no one to hear 
him. 

The next day he looked and looked again 
for food, but found none, and was so wretch- 
ed he could have wished he had been drowned 
with his little brother and sisters. The third 
day he was more fortunate. To his great 
joy he found some crusts of bread a wood- 






24 


“Trip” 


cutter had thrown aside while eating his din- 
ner by a spring. After eating and drinking, 
the little fellow felt so much better he was 
glad he had not been drowned, and when the 
next day he found a dead rabbit a hunter had 
shot he felt that life was a right good thing 
after all. 

So he lived, some days finding food and 
others going hungry. Once a picnic party 
left scraps enough for him to have a feast 
for several days, and O how he did stuff! 
He had been so long in the woods that now 
he had grown rough and shaggy like a wild 
dog, and had forgotten all about his mother 
and his home and everything else. 

One day he came to the edge of a road that 
ran through the wood, and barked sharply at 
a man riding by. Then a wagon passed, and 
he barked sharper than before; in fact, he 
barked at everything that passed, for every- 
thing looked so strange and new to him. Pres- 
ently he thought he would try the road him- 
self, and he trotted along, not knowing where, 
nor what a funny sight he was, so shaggy and 
thin, with his pointed ears and bright eyes. 

A party of boys came up behind him with 


“Trip” 25 

their fishing poles. “Look at that funny lit- 
tle dog !” cried one of them. 

“Let’s ketch him,” said another. 

In a moment they were all after him, but 
had some trouble to run him down; and when 
he was caught he snapped and growled and 
bit so that he made them mad, and they boxed 
and cuffed him soundly. “He’s a mean, bad 
dog,” they said, not knowing the little crea- 
ture was frightened nearly to death. 

“Let’s tie this tin bait can to his tail and 
see how fast he can run.” No sooner said 
than done, and, with a kick starting him, off 
he darted like an arrow down the road. He 
was glad to be free, but the tin can rattling on 
the stones and striking against his sides 
frightened and hurt him; so he ran faster and 
faster, trying to get rid of it. The boys fol- 
lowed with shouts and stones. At last they 
came to a village, where, bewildered with pain 
and fear, the poor dog sought refuge under 
the porch of a small cottage. A little boy 
saw him from the window, and, running out 
of the house, he looked under the porch, call- 
ing persuasively, “Here, puppy ! here, puppy !” 
but the dog only crouched closer against the 


26 


“Trip” 


wall. In a moment the boys ran up and began 
to punch at him with their poles. 

“O, don’t hurt him! Let him alone; he is 
so scared,” said Willy. 

“He’s none o’ your dog. We found him, 
an’ we’ve got a right to do whatever we please 
ter him,” said a large, rough boy, punching 
so vigorously that the dog could not always 
keep out of the way of his pole, and some- 
times cried out with pain. These cries went 
to the heart of kind little Willy, but all his 
pleadings were in vain. At last he said: “I’ll 
tell you what, boys, I’ll buy him of you. I 
want a dog anyhow.” 

“How much’ll you give?” said the big boy, 
and all stopped punching. 

“I — I don’t know,” faltered Willy, think- 
ing of his only two little coins in the world. 
“I’ll give you a nickel.” 

“That ain’t enough.” 

“Then I’ll give you two nickels. I can’t 
give you more than that, for it is all I’ve got,” 
said Willy anxiously. 

Seeing that was the best that could be done, 
and thinking their cruel sport was ended any- 
way, they accepted the two bright nickels, then 


“Trip” 


27 


laughed at Willy for being a little goose to 
give that much for a “good-for-nothing dog 
that would bite.” 

After they left, Willy felt rather mournful 
over his nickels, for he was trying to save 
money for a new reading book. But when he 
looked at the poor little frightened animal he 
forgot about the book, and tried to coax him 
out with gentle words, and at last succeeded 
by the help of a piece of meat, which proved 
to the half -starved dog a temptation too great 
to be resisted. Willy patted and coaxed him 
until gradually and with much difficulty he 
won him into the kitchen, where his mother 
was cooking supper. 

“Here he is, mother. Poor little doggie; 
he was nearly starved to death ! See his bones 
all stick out, and look where that horrid old 
can cut his legs! And one of the boys must 
have hit him here on the head. It's just dread- 
ful !” Willy's voice was full of tears as he 
held his rescued pet in his arms. 

“Poor fellow, he certainly looks as if he 
had been having a hard time/' said Mrs. Lane 
as she kissed her boy and patted the dog. “We 
will put some grease on his bruises and tie up 


28 


“Trip” 


his cuts, and then you may give him some 
bread and put him in the wood shed with some 
straw for a bed. I think he will be much bet- 
ter in the morning.” 

“And may I keep him, mother? I do want 
him so much. ,, Willy looked so pleadingly into 
her face that she could not say “No,” though 
she knew how hard it was for her, a poor 
seamstress, to always get food for themselves. 

“We will try to keep him, darling.” 

Gently they cared for the little stranger, 
notwithstanding some resistance on his part 
to such unusual kindness. 

“He isn't very pretty now, is he, mother? 
But I expect when he gets right fat and sleek 
he will look first-rate. Don’t you think so?” 
said Willy as he ate his supper. “And I am 
going to name him Trip.” 

“O yes, I think he will look fine, and you 
have chosen a pretty name for him,” answered 
his mother, smiling at her boy, who was all 
she had in the world to love. 

Willy’s words proved true, for with food 
and shelter Trip improved greatly in appear- 
ance, and was such a bright, frisky little fel- 
low, his name suited him very well. He for- 


“Trip” 


29 


got all about his hard times and the unkind- 
ness he had received (or at least he never said 
anything about them, which is next best to 
forgetting), and returned all the love and 
kindness given him by his little master. He 
followed Willy everywhere he went, and when 
he sat in the house lay curled up either at his 
feet or in his arms, and many a frolic they 
had together. The only thing that troubled 
Willy was that sometimes there was hardly 
enough left from their scanty meal to make a 
good one for Trip, and it hurt him to see the 
dog’s eager, expectant look when there was 
so little for him. 

At last this trouble was taken away by a 
bargain made with the butcher. Willy was to 
sweep off his pavements every day and in re- 
turn receive scraps of meat for his dog. He 
faithfully did his part, and Trip fared sump- 
tuously every day, growing brighter and 
smarter all the time, as if he were trying to do 
his part well too. 

In the long winter evenings Willy amused 
himself teaching him tricks, and in a little 
while he would stand up on his hind legs and 
shake hands, or if asked a question would, at 


30 


“Trip” 


his master’s bidding, bow his head for “yes” 
and shake it for “no.” He learned to sweep 
with a little broom Willy contrived to make. 
But the highest point of excellence was reached 
when he learned to hold a little wooden gun 
on his shoulder and go through with some 
motions as Willy had seen the soldiers do. He 
looked so comical at this that Mrs. Lane said 
he should have a uniform, and managed to 
make a very neat one out of an old blue jacket 
of Willy’s, trimming it with a bit of yellow 
braid. 

Willy was a most delighted boy the first 
time he dressed Trip up and set him going 
through his tricks for the amusement of the 
butcher and his man. Day after day Trip 
pretended to sweep the pavement after his 
master, or, when ordered, became a soldier 
and drilled, to the intense delight of all the 
children in the neighborhood. Older people 
too would stop and laugh at the happy boy 
and his smart dog. 

One day a carriage passed with a pretty lit- 
tle girl and her nurse in it. Seeing Trip, the 
child cried out: “O Bridget! Bridget! do let 
me stop and see that funny little dog.” 


“Trip” 


31 


“Och, murther! an’ what is the matter wid 
the baste ?” said Bridget. “If the varmint 
ain’t dressed up like a human sowl! Stop, 
Ned, me boy, an’ let us have a look at the 
cr’atur’.” 

Ned drove up to the sidewalk and little Flor- 
ence Harmon sprang out of the carriage. Com- 
ing close to Willy, she said : “Do, little boy, 
let me look at your dog.” 

“Why, certainly you may,” said the boy. 
“Here, Trip, shake hands with the lady.” 
Trip gravely extended his paw, which Flor- 
ence shook heartily. “Is it cold this morn- 
ing? Say ‘yes.’ ” Trip nodded his head 
briskly and gave a sharp bark. 

Then one after another he went through 
all his tricks, and Florence was charmed. She 
looked so pretty and sweet in her beautiful 
clothes, and her blue eyes sparkled so as she 
clapped her hands that Willy thought she was 
the loveliest thing he ever saw, and would 
have been content to amuse her all day, but 
Bridget was not so patient. “Come along 
wid ye, ye foolish child! Will ye niver be 
satisfied wid seein’ the poor cr’atur’ stan’ on 
his hint legs?” So she drew the unwilling 


32 


“Trip” 


child away ; but all the way home Florence 
could talk of nothing but the dog, and when 
she saw her father she ran to him, exclaiming: 
“O, papa, I saw the cutest little doggie in the 
village! He can sweep and march and say 
‘yes/ and shake hands. O, papa, you just 
ought to see him. I do wish I had him! 
Won’t you get him for me?” 

“Why, my little daughter, you talk so fast 
I can’t understand you,” said Mr. Harmon, 
laughing. “The dog said ‘yes?’ ” 

“He barked ‘yes,’ ” corrected Florence, and 
chattered on, telling over and over again all 
that Trip had done, often saying: “I wish he 
was my dog.” 

“We have a lot of little dogs at the stable, 
and you can have one of them,” said Mr. 
Harmon. 

“O, I have seen them,” cried Florence con- 
temptuously, “and they can’t do anything but 
just catch rats. Trip is a hundred thousand 
times smarter than they are.” 

“Yes, but perhaps the little boy will not 
part with Trip.” 

“Ned said he was poor, and he ’spect he 
would be glad to sell him,” said Florence, who 


“Trip” 


33 


was used to having her own way, and would 
not be put off now. Her mother was dead, and 
her father tried to take her place to their only 
child by indulging her as much as possible. 

“Well, well, I will try to buy Trip,” he 
said, patting her golden head. 

True to his promise, Mr. Harmon went to 
the butcher’s shop the next day to inquire for 
Willy. 

“Here he is, sir, and here is the dog too,” 
said the butcher. 

“Well, my lad, is that the wonderful dog 
that pleased my little girl so much?” he said 
kindly to Willy. 

“Yes, sir, this is Trip. Do you want to 
see him act ?” said the boy, proud of his dog’s 
reputation. 

“No, I haven’t time this morning; I came 
to see what you would sell him for.” 

“Sell him? Sell Trip? I wouldn’t sell him 
for nothing in the world!” exclaimed Willy 
in the tone of a mother asked to sell her child. 

“Why won’t you sell him ?” 

“Cause I love him an’ he loves me; don’t 
you, Trip?” he cried, catching the dog in his 
arms as if he thought he was in danger. 

3 


34 


“Trip” 


“I will give you a dollar for him.” 

“No, sir!” hugging him tighter. 

“Two dollars.” 

“No, sir.” 

“Well, then, five dollars. That is too much, 
but Florence wants him,” said Mr. Harmon. 

“She can’t have him for nothin' !" answered 
Willy so firmly that the gentleman saw it 
was useless to say anything more. 

Fie looked a moment at Willy's flushed face 
bent down upon the dog’s head, then said with 
a kind smile: “You are a good, true boy, I 
know, and I like you all the better for not be- 
ing willing to part with your pet. But if you 
should change your mind for any reason and 
want to sell him, bring him out to Oak Hall, 
and you shall have the five dollars.” 

After Mr. Harmon left him, Willy went 
directly home to tell his mother of the offer 
that had been made him. 

“Five dollars is a large sum of money,” 
said Mrs. Lane a little wistfully, thinking of 
the many needed things it would buy. 

“Course it is, mother, but you know I 
couldn't sell Trip, no more’n you could sell me, 
’cause we belong to each other.” 


“Trip” 


35 


Mrs. Lane smiled and said: “No, no, my 
boy, I would not have you do what your 
heart told you was wrong.” 

Blit as he played with his dog she thought 
of the month’s rent nearly due, and of the 
scant supply of coal, and the flour getting low 
in the barrel, and the work coming in so slowly 
this season, though indeed it came as fast as 
she had strength to do it, for the pain in her 
side troubled her more and more. All this 
she tried to keep from her child. “He is so 
young yet. Let me keep the shadow from him 
as long as I can. It will come soon enough.” 
But it came sooner than she expected. 

So little work came in that nearly all the 
money Mrs. Lane made went for rent, and 
there was but little left for food. Willy did 
not notice that she gave him nearly all their 
scanty meals, nor did his young eyes see that 
she was growing thinner and whiter all the 
time. One morning she could not rise as 
usual, and when Willy came at her call the hand 
she laid upon his was burning hot, and she 
coughed with nearly every breath as she said : 
“Dress yourself quickly, darling, and go for 
the doctor. Mother is sick.” 


36 


“Trip” 


The doctor came, and looked very grave. 
He ordered medicine, and said she must have 
good, nourishing food, and that she couldn’t 
get well without them. From the next room, 
where she had sent him, Willy heard this and 
his mother’s answer that she did not have the 
money to buy them. He seemed to grow sev- 
eral years older as he listened, and many 
things were understood now that he had not 
noticed before. But the one thought above 
all others was that his precious mother needed 
food and medicine to keep her alive, and she 
did not have the money to buy them. His 
little heart was nearly bursting with grief as 
hour by hour the day went on, and as often 
as Trip came near him he thought of the five 
dollars Mr. Harmon had offered him. Clasp- 
ing the dog in his arms, he sobbed : “O Trip, 
Trippy! I will have to let you go. Mother will 
die, Trip; and I love you next to her. Don’t 
you see, old fellow, I have got to choose? And 
of course it must be mother. They’ll be good 
to you, Trippy, I am sure they will; and they 
will let me see you sometimes.” 

As the boy wept, the dog licked his face and 


“Trip” 


37 


hands as if he would comfort him. Willy- 
had made his choice, and while a kind neigh- 
bor sat with his mother he took Trip and 
walked hurriedly through the wind and snow 
to Oak Hall, a mile away. 

“Who is this?” said Mr. Hannon as Ned 
brought into his library a sad-faced boy with 
the snow still clinging to his clothes. 

“I tole him he wasn’t fitten to come in the 
house, sar; but he said you done tole him to 
come, an’ he wouldn’t tell nobody but you what 
he done come for. So I breshed the snow oft* 
as good as I could, an’ here he is, sar, dog an’ 
all,” said Ned. 

Willy came close to Mr. Harmon and said 
sadly : “I’ve brought the dog, sir.” 

“The dog? O yes, you are the little boy 
who wouldn’t sell the dog my daughter want- 
ed.” 

“I want the money for mother. She’s sick, 
and the doctor said she must have lots of 
things; and — and she didn’t have no money 
to buy ’em, and so I’ve brought Trip. But, 
sir, won’t you please let me come to see him 
sometimes?” Willy ended with a sob in his 
throat. 


38 


“Trip” 


“Certainly you can, my boy. You say your 
mother is sick and needing money?” asked 
Mr. Harmon, handing him five silver dollars. 

“Yes, sir; the doctor said she mightn’t get 
well,” answered Willy with quivering lips. 

“I am very sorry for you, my little lad,” 
said Mr. Harmon gently. Then he sent for 
Bridget to bring Florence. 

The child was overjoyed to see the dog and 
know it was hers, and began to make friends 
with him. At Mr. Harmon’s request Willy 
showed her how to make Trip go through 
with his tricks, and gave her the little uniform 
and gun and broom. Then he turned to leave, 
but when he reached the door his courage gave 
way, and, kneeling down by Trip, he took him 
in his arms and cried as if his heart would 
break. Between his sobs he said: “Good-by, 
Trip! O, my dear little doggie, I can’t give 
you up! But I must — I must! Don’t you 
know that, T rippy ? and don’t you know I love 
you as much as ever? O my! O my!” Sud- 
denly springing up, he ran out and shut the 
door before Trip could follow him. Out of 
the house and down the road he ran as fast 
as he could, crying all the way. 


“Trip” 


39 


Finding the door shut between himself and 
his master, Trip seemed quite surprised for a 
moment, then began to bark and to try to 
scratch the door open. Failing here, he ran 
to the window, and, catching sight of Willy, 
barked furiously and jumped with all his 
might against the glass. 

“Och, ye murthren brute ye! go away wid 
ye afore ye break the winder!” cried Bridget, 
driving him away from it. 

Back he went to the door, and continued 
barking and whining and scratching, all un- 
mindful of Florence's pretty efforts to pet 
and console him. Every time Bridget moved 
away from the window back he ran to it, only 
to be driven away again to the door, where, 
after a while, he lay down, whining most pit- 
eously. 

“O papa! Bridget! what makes him cry so? 
Why don't he play with me? Trippy dar- 
ling, don’t you know you are my little dog 
now, and that you must play with me?” cried 
the troubled child. 

“An' sure he is enough to make a body deaf 
and dumb wid all his noise! B'e aisy wid ye 
now! Howly mither, he is at the window 


40 “Trip” 

again !” Bridget was quite exasperated with 
him by this time. 

And Mr. Harmon too was worn out with 
the noise, so he said: “Call Ned. Maybe he 
can do something with him.” 

Ned came and petted and scolded and 
threatened, with no better success than the 
others. Then a bright idea came into his 
kinky head. “Lemme git a piece o’ meat.” 

But when the meat was brought, to his sur- 
prise Trip would not touch it. 

Then, amidst Florence’s tears, Ned was or- 
dered by Mr. Harmon to carry him off and 
lock him up for the night. All night long the 
little prisoner whined and howled, and next 
morning, when taken to Florence in the nurs- 
ery, he was still inconsolable, and would not 
notice her, and refused food. 

For two days and nights this continued, until 
at last Mr. Harmon said : “The poor dog will 
die if we keep him much longer, Florence, 
and I think I had better take him back to 
Willy. What do you say?” 

The little girl sadly consented. She was 
tired of trying to win his heart. 

“That dog’s goin’ mad sure, sar, if he keeps 


“Trip” 


41 


on, an’ you’d better git rid uv him,” said 
Ned, who was tired of his part of caring for 
him. 

“Mad, did ye say?” exclaimed Bridget in 
terror. “May the saints presarve us! We will 
all be after hevin’ the hydrophoby. Come 
away, Florence, me darlint. Don’t ye go> nigh 
him agin.” 

Thus, with the consent of the household, Mr. 
Harmon started off in the carriage with Trip 
to give him back to his master. 

When Willy reached home after saying 
good-by to Trip he dried his eyes and washed 
away the traces of tears as best he could; 
then, going to his mother, he put the money 
into her hand, saying: “There is the money 
for Trip, mother. Now you can buy the 
things the doctor said you must have.” 

“Why, my dear boy, have you sold your 
dog? No, no; you must not do that,” said 
Mrs. Lane. Yet she knew her child’s self- 
sacrifice might save her life. 

“But it is done, mother. He is at Mr. Har- 
mon’s now, and there is the money; and — 
and — I don’t mind it much. I’ll try to get 
on without him. Only won’t you please get 


42 


“Trip” 


well, mother, and don’t die?” Willy buried 
his face in the bedclothes and began to cry 
again. 

His mother drew his head to her breast and 
told him how she wanted to live for him, and 
how proud and glad she was that her boy 
was a brave, noble fellow who loved his moth- 
er better than himself, and how sorry she 
was for him to give up his dog; but she was 
sure it would come out all right. Thus she pet- 
ted and comforted him as only mothers can, 
until he grew quiet; then giving him some of 
the dearly earned money, she sent him to buy 
the things she needed. 

The two days and nights that followed were 
nearly as hard on Willy as on Trip; but his 
tears were shed when alone, lest his mother 
might think he was sorry he had made the 
sacrifice for her. The house, the whole world 
seemed lonely. Everywhere he turned he 
missed his playfellow, and his food was not 
eaten for thinking other hands would feed the 
dog, now his no longer. He could not have 
stood it except that he needed to be busy wait- 
ing on his mother and, under her direction, 
doing much of the household work. The 


“Trip” 43 

neighbors lent kindly help, and all praised 
Willy for being a good, industrious boy. 

“You feel better, don’t you, mother ?” said 
Willy the third day as he watched her wake up 
from a sweet sleep and smile at him. 

“Yes, darling, I feel much better — almost 
as if I were getting well. The doctor says so 
too, and I am so glad for my little boy’s sake, 
who gave up the thing he loved best to save 
his mother.” As she spoke Mrs. Lane drew 
him down and kissed him, and the boy’s heart 
was so glad that he almost forgot Trip. 

Just then a sharp bark was heard at the outer 
door — a thump, then a scratching sound that 
made Willy fly to the door. As he opened it 
he received the dog in his arms. Such hugging 
and kissing and licking and barking never 
went on between a boy and a dog before. 

“O mother! here is Trip, come back to me!” 
called Willy ; but, looking up, he saw Mr. Har- 
mon standing outside the door, and he re- 
membered that the dog did not belong to him. 
He grew sober in an instant. 

“Well, Willy, I have brought him back, you 
see,” said Mr. Harmon. “He would not be 
happy with us, just cried for you all the time; 


44 “Trip” 

and we could not bear to keep him so un- 
happy.’ ' 

“But, sir,” said Willy in distress, “I — I can’t 
take him back, for I have spent most of the 
money, and can’t pay you back; and that 
wouldn’t be right.” 

“Don’t trouble about that, little man; I did 
not expect you to give back the money. But 
if you will feel better about it, you may call 
it Florence’s dog, and you will keep him just 
as you did before, and bring him up to Oak 
Hall sometimes to see her. I know you will 
be good to him.” Mr. Harmon smiled down 
into the eager face upturned to his. 

“Indeed I shall, and thank you for letting 
me,” said Willy joyfully. 

“Now,” said Mr. Harmon, “here is a pres- 
ent for your mother. Take it to her, and tell 
her that when she gets better I want to come 
and have a talk with her.” As he spoke he 
beckoned to Ned, who brought from the car- 
riage a basket of fruit. 

“Thank you !” cried Willy. “She does love 
oranges and grapes! And won’t you please 
tell the little girl I am sorry Trip wouldn’t do 
anything for her? But I shall bring him to 


“Trip” 45 

see her soon, and he shall play soldier as long 
as she wants him.” 

“All right, little man; and if you think you 
are large enough to work around a little, I 
shall give you some jobs, so that you can earn 
a few nickels when you come. Good by,” 
said Mr. Harmon, leaving. 

“Good-by, sir. I’ll be mighty glad if I 
can,” said Willy, looking after him. 

He carried the basket to his mother, but 
they were so interested in telling and hearing 
about Trip that they did not notice for a while 
that a letter was lying on top of the fruit. 
Mrs. Lane opened it, and out dropped five 
crisp five-dollar bills. “What is this?” she 
exclaimed; then read the following note: 

Dear Madam: It was my wife’s custom every year 
to give the inclosed amount to some one who needed 
it. She is in heaven now, and I ask that you will kindly 
allow me to give it to you this year in her name and 
for her sake. 

Yours respectfully, Frank Harmon. 

Mrs. Lane closed her eyes in a silent prayer 
of thanksgiving unto the God in whom she 
trusted. Mr. Harmon’s gift took a great load 
of care off her heart, and the many comforts 


46 


“Trip” 


it brought helped her to get stronger and bet- 
ter day after day, until at last she was able to 
sit up. 

Mr. Harmon came to see her, promised her 
all the sewing from the Hall, talked kindly of 
her boy, and arranged for him to come regu- 
larly to work in the spring as helper to the 
gardener. 

This was the beginning of better and hap- 
pier times for both Mrs. Lane and Willy. She 
was well paid for her work, with many a 
helpful present thrown in. Willy really en- 
joyed working in the beautiful garden with 
the kind old gardener. They both loved Trip 
better than ever, looking upon him as the cause 
of their good fortune. Every afternoon the 
faithful dog followed at Willy’s heels when he 
went to work, and a little while had to be giv- 
en to showing him off to Florence. At first 
he was timid and suspicious, and would not 
get a step away from his master, as if he were 
afraid of being deserted again. After a while 
he forgot that sad experience, and became very 
fond of the little girl, romping with her, to her 
heart’s delight, and obeying all her orders as 
quickly as he did Willy’s. 


“Trip” 


47 


One day a strange thing happened. It was 
soon after Trip began coming to Oak Hall. 
He and Willy went with Florence to the stable 
to see the other dogs. As they came near, old 
Fan, a motherly-looking old terrier dog, came 
toward them. She and Trip met, put their 
noses together, barked, smelled around, then 
barked again, as if they were saying good 
morning to old friends. 

“Look!” cried Florence; “they are telling 
each other ‘howdy/ I wonder if they know 
each other?” 

“No, I guess not,” said Willy; “but she is 
enough like him to be his mother.” 

And that was just what she was, his own 
mother; and right in that stable Trip had been 
born, and down the hill there was the creek 
where Ned threw him into the water. Wasn't 
it strange that he should come back in this 
way? But nobody ever guessed it, so nobody 
wondered — that is, no human body. How 
much Trip and old Fan knew I can’t say; but 
they were always very, very good friends. 


Grumpy Growler 

You never saw such a boy! Nothing ever 
suited him. He was always grumbling about 
something he had or didn’t have, something 
he had to do, or couldn’t do. He growled be- 
cause he had to get up in the morning, and 
fretted because he had to go to bed at night. 
He whined about being hungry all day, and 
sulked when he was not allowed to eat only 
sweet things at the table. Of course he was 
not happy, and, what was worse, no one else 
was happy when he was around. He was such 
a little fellow that you wondered he could 
hold such an amount of fret and grumble and 
growl. His name was John, but folks nick- 
named him “Grumpy Growler,” which suited 
him much better. 

One day this very disagreeable little boy got 
angry with his mamma and nurse because they 
wanted to wash his face for dinner, and ran 
away. Out of the front gate and down the 
road he went toward the great city. No one 
saw him going, and he was not missed for 

(48) 


Grumpy Growler 49 

some time, so when they looked for him he 
was nowhere to be found. His naughty little 
feet ran as fast as they could go, and after 
a while he came to the edge of the city, where 
the streets were narrow and dirty and the 
houses small and shabby. He was dressed in 
a beautiful suit of clothes, and his long golden 
curls were tossed about his rosy cheeks, and he 
looked very pretty except for the ugly frown 
upon his face. The people wondered who he 
was. A wicked old woman who was picking 
rags out of the gutter called to him: “Where 
are you going, little boy ?” 

“I am running away,” he said. 

“What are you running away for?” she 
said, coming close to him. 

“ ’Cause I don’t want to wash my face and 
curl my hair all the time. I wish that the old 
stuff was cut off, anyhow. An’ I don’t want 
to stay with mamma and nurse. They make 
me drink milk an’ go to bed an’ do all kin’ 
er things.” 

The old woman smiled cunningly and said: 
“Poor little fellow! they treat you awful bad. 
Come home with me, an’ I’ll cut yer hair off, 
and won’t never make you go ter bed.” 

4 


SO Grumpy Growler 

Grumpy Growler looked up and said : “An* 
you won’t make me wash my face an* eat light 
bread ’stead er cake ?” 

“No, indeed, I shan’t make you wash nor 
eat nothin’.” 

“Then I will go to your house and stay 
there forever,” said he trustfully. 

“All right, come on.” And the ragpicker 
grinned more wickedly than ever as she hur- 
ried him off quickly through many crooked, 
dirty alleys until they came to a cellar door. 
Darting down this, she pulled Grumpy Growl- 
er after her. He did not like the dark, dirty 
place, and as usual began to grumble. “If this 
is your house, I don’t want to stay with you, 
an’ I won’t.” 

“Yes, you will,” said the woman, pushing 
him roughly down on the floor and making a 
horrible face at him. Much frightened, he be- 
gan to cry loudly. But several blows made 
him hush until the woman got a pair of scis- 
sors and began to cut his hair off. 

“O don’t cut my hair off. I want it.” 

“Oho, my little yellow-hammer, I want it 
too, and will get some bright silver dollars for 
it. Didn’t I promise to cut it off?” And the 


Grumpy Growler 51 

old hag's eyes gleamed like cats' eyes in the 
dark. 

After a while Grumpy Growler began to get 
very hungry, and whined: “I want something 
to eat." 

“Look over in that corner, an' you’ll find 
some bread," said the woman. 

“I won’t eat those old nasty crusts that you 
got out er the gutter; no, I won’t," said the 
boy. 

“All right; don’t eat nothin’ if you don't 
want ter, my young cock sparrow. I said I 
wouldn’t make you." She grinned until she 
showed all her yellow teeth ; then she sat down 
in the only chair with her pipe and mug of 
beer. 

Night came on, and the poor, tired child be- 
gan to cry softly. He was very homesick, and 
wanted his mamma and his supper and bed. 

The woman roused up and sneered : “What 
are you singin’, my ’possum?" 

“I want to go home, an' I want to go to 
bed," sobbed the little fellow. 

“This is the only home you've got, an’ if 
you say you’ve got any other I’ll break yer 
neck,” and she scolded fearfully. “If yer 


52 Grumpy Growler 

sleepy, lay down on them rags an’ go ter 
sleep.” 

“They are so dirty, an’ they don’t smell 
good, an’ I don’t want to lie on them. I want 
a bed,” fretted the child. 

“That’s all the bed you’ll git, my coon. If 
you don’t like that, jest set up all night. I 
tole you I wouldn’t make yer go to bed, an’ I 
won’t.” 

After a while the tired child fell asleep in a 
little heap on the floor. Early in the morning 
he was awakened by a rough shake. Feeling 
bewildered and numb, he gazed around him, 
and, thinking of his morning bath at home, 
asked: “Where’ll I wash?” 

“Nowhere. I tole you you wouldn’t have 
ter wash if you lived with me. Git some bread 
an’ come to work,” the old woman said, hur- 
rying up the cellar steps. 

Again Grumpy Growler refused to eat the 
dirty crusts, and followed the woman into the 
chill morning air weak with hunger and heart- 
sick for home. All day the woman kept him 
by her side, busy hunting through piles of re- 
fuse and filthy gutters for rags, tin cans, and 
bits of this and that, all of which were put in 


Grumpy Growler 53 

a sack and carried back to the cellar in the 
evening. By that time hunger drove the 
wretched child to eat the scraps of bread which 
they had found, and, overcome with weariness, 
he dropped without a murmur on the floor and 
slept. After living this way for three days — 
half starved, his face caked with dirt, his hair 
matted close to his head, his clothes exchanged 
for ill-fitting, dirty ones — no one would have 
known that he was the same boy who had run 
away from his nice home and kind parents. 
And O how he wished that he was there once 
more ! “I’d eat anything, I’d do anything that 
mamma told me,” he sobbed. “O how good it 
would feel to be clean an’ to sleep in a good 
bed !” 

Grumpy Growler had had a hard time, but he 
had not suffered any more than his parents, 
who had searched everywhere for their lost 
child, and were now nearly heartbroken. One 
day his father and a policeman were search- 
ing through the back alley where the old wom- 
an lived. She, with the child close behind her, 
came out of the cellar just as they were pass- 
ing on the other side. With a great cry of joy 
the boy darted toward him, crying: “O papa, 


54 Grumpy Growler 

papa! take me home; please take me home!” 
For a moment his father did not know him, 
he was so changed, and the woman rushed after 
him and tried to carry him off; but the child 
clung frantically to his father, exclaiming: 
“Don’t you know me, papa? I am your little 
Johnny!” Then his father caught him up in 
his arms and kissed his dirty face over and over 
again as he carried him home to his weeping 
mother. Her tears of sorrow were changed 
to tears of joy as she pressed her darling to her 
heart; for though he had distressed her by 
his ugly fretting and grumbling and disobe- 
dience, she loved him dearly. 

For the first time in his life Grumpy Growl- 
er was bathed without fretting, and ate gladly 
what was set before him. When bedtime came 
he climbed quickly into his clean, white bed, 
and as his mother kissed him good night he 
whispered : “Mamma, I am not going to grum- 
ble ever any more. It’s just awful not to have 
to go to bed and not to ever wash your face, 
and I think that light bread is really gooder 
than cake.” 

Then his good mother had a long, sweet talk 
with him about the blessings and gifts which 


Grumpy Growler 55 

God had given him, and he understood it now 
better than he ever did before, and never again 
forgot to be thankful for his food and clothing 
and home and his dear, loving parents. In- 
stead of fretting and grumbling, he was al- 
ways cheerful and pleasant after this, so that 
his nickname did not suit him at all, and his 
father said: “I think that instead of Grumpy 
Growler we should call our little boy ‘Happy 
Johnny/ ” 


The Lost Lamb 


One day Katie’s father came to the house 
carrying a wee white lamb in his arms. 

Katie ran to meet him, crying out: “O fa- 
ther ! what are you going to do with that dear 
little lamb?” 

“I will give it to you if you will take care 
of it,” he said, putting it down at her side. “Its 
mother is dead; and if it is not fed and taken 
care of, it will die too.” 

“O, you poor little lambie! I’m so sorry 
for you ’cause your mamma is dead! Yes, 
papa, I’ll take care of it and be just as good 
to it as I can be. And I’m so much obliged to 
you. I’ll fix some milk for it right away.” 

Off Katie ran to the kitchen, and with her 
mother’s help warmed some milk, which she 
put in a bottle with a soft rag stopper, and car- 
ried it to the bleating lamb. Putting the stop- 
per, which was soaking with milk, into its 
mouth, she exclaimed: “Look, papa! how it 
sucks! Poor little thing! you are nearly 
starved, ain’t you ? But never mind, you shall 


The Lost Lamb 57 

have plenty to eat now, and a warm bed in the 
woodhouse. Can’t it, papa?” 

“Yes; I’ll put some straw in a large box in 
there, and it will make a snug, warm house 
for it.” 

Rover, the yard dog, came and snuffed at 
the lamb quite suspiciously. 

“Now, Rover, good old dog,” said Katie, 
“you must love Nannie, for that’s what I’m go- 
ing to call her, and be good to her, and you’ll 
have somebody to play with you when I am 
at my lessons.” 

Rover lay down by the lamb as if he ac- 
cepted the terms of peace, and watched the 
feeding; then went along when Nannie was 
taken to the woodhouse, as if he wanted to 
see the whole thing well done. 

From that time Nannie had two devoted, 
watchful friends in. Katie and Rover, and 
many a merry romp the three had on the green 
grass all the time Nannie was growing and 
getting a thick white fleece. She never went 
out of the yard, and never saw any of her 
family or relations — in truth, I don’t think 
she knew that she had any, or that there were 
any other sheep in the world. She did not 


58 


The Lost Lamb 


stay so ignorant, however, for one day while 
she and Katie and Rover were standing at the 
back gate she saw a large flock of sheep driven 
into the barn to be sheared. They came by 
running and pushing and scrambling and 
bleating, looking wild and frightened. At first 
Nannie looked astonished and a little fright- 
ened at the strange sight, then she seemed to 
recognize her kinsfolk, and with an answering 
cry tried to get out of the gate. When she 
found that she could not do that, she poked 
her nose through the palings and bleated plain- 
tively, as if begging to be let out. 

“No, no, Nannie,” said Katie, patting her 
woolly back, “you can’t go out in that rough 
crowd. Those old sheep will knock you over 
and tramp on you, and hurt you just awful, 
' ’cause that’s the way mamma said they would 
do me.” 

But Nannie did not seem to like Katie’s ad- 
vice; and perhaps she did not like what she 
said about her relations, for she broke away 
from her and ran here and there along the 
fence trying to find a place where she could 
get through and be with the other sheep. She 
could not get out, but from that day she 


The Lost Lamb 


59 


seemed to have a continual desire to get 
through the gate and go somewhere— she did 
not know where. Whenever any of the gates 
were left open she ran as hard as she could 
go, and Katie and Rover would have a hard 
time getting her back. 

One evening some one forgot to latch a 
gate, and in the twilight Nannie slipped out 
without any one seeing her. In the morning 
she did not come as usual to get her break- 
fast. Katie called, “Nannie, Nan-nie! N-a-n- 
n-i-e !” all around the yard, but heard no 
answering bleat. Then she went out back of 
the barn calling at the top of her voice, but 
no Nannie was to be found. With tears of 
distress in her eyes, she ran to tell her father 
of her loss. He sent her older brother to look 
for the lamb, and when he came back without 
her Katie could no longer keep back her tears. 
Then her father went himself and looked in 
the far meadow among the other sheep. 
Still she was not found, and all were puzzled 
to know what had become of the pet. Rover 
seemed to miss his companion, and ran rest- 
lessly about the yard. At last Katie said to 
him: “Come, Rover, we will go look every- 


60 


The Lost Lamb 


where for Nannie;” and he seemed to under- 
stand, for he barked joyously and started off 
as if he said: “Why didn’t you think of ask- 
ing me before ?” 

He did not go toward the farm gate, as 
every one else had done, but to the road gate, 
and would not come back when Katie called 
him, so she followed him out, and down the 
road, and into an uninclosed woodland. Here 
the undergrowth of bushes, briers, and burrs 
was so thick that Katie had trouble in keep- 
ing up with Rover, who seemed to be going 
everywhere and getting nowhere. Her hands 
and face were scratched and her dress torn 
by the briers, and the low bushes caught and 
pulled her hair. She grew tired and discour- 
aged. At last she stumbled over a root and 
fell on the ground. Then she cried out: “O 
Rover, I can’t look any more, I am so tired! 
I don’t believe we can ever find Nannie.” 

Rover came to her side and licked her 
hand, as if he would say: “Don’t give up, 
little mistress. Come on, we will find her in a 
little while.” 

But Katie was so tired and out of heart 
that she crawled under a tree and cried until 


The Lost Lamb 


61 


she went to sleep and left Rover sitting by 
her side. How long she slept she did not 
know, but she was awakened by a bark from 
Rover or the rays of the setting sun in her 
face, she could not tell which as she sat up 
and rubbed her eyes. Then she looked around 
and there — would you believe it? — stood Nan- 
nie! With a cry of joy Katie threw her 
arms around her pet and kissed her on her 
little white nose. “O Nannie, my darling, 
why did you run away? Where have you 
been ?” 

Nannie looked very sheepish (she could not 
help that), and said not a word (how could 
she?) ; she only wagged her tail very briskly 
in answer to these questions, but such a tail 
as it was! It was so full of burrs that it was 
a wonder that she could wag it at all. In 
fact, her whole fleece was so full of burrs 
of different kinds and briery sticks that she 
looked quite shabby and forlorn. But her 
looks did not seem to trouble Nannie as she 
frisked around Katie and wagged that burry 
tail all the way home, which neither of them 
could have found except for Rover’s leading 
the way. And he, good old dog! marched 


62 


The Lost Lamb 


along looking quite happy and proud. I think 
he would have smiled if he could, and am 
sure that he could have told more than Katie 
as to how and where Nannie had been found 
if he had been able to speak. As it was, Nan- 
nie was given the credit of coming back of 
her own accord, which she accepted along with 
a good supper, though she did not seem to 
enjoy Katie’s efforts to pull the burrs and 
briers out of her wool. She bleated and kicked 
and struggled against it just like some of you 
dear little girls do when nurse or mamma is 
combing your tangled hair. 


Tip and Tim 

On a bright spring day two little brown 
birds first put their heads out of two blue eggs 
and looked around. All they could do was 
to open their yellow mouths wide when the 
mother came with a worm or a fly, so she 
could drop it right in where it was always 
wanted. But after a while they grew so 
large that they felt crowded in the nest, and 
their wings felt so strong that they wanted to 
use them. So when the June sunshine was 
warm and June flowers were blooming and, 
best of all, June insects were swarming in the 
air and on the ground, these little birds — Tip 
and Tim — opened their wings and flew away 
from the nest out into the big world. A love- 
ly, pleasant world it was to them, and every 
day a holiday which they spent in play and 
song. How delightful it was to sit on a high 
twig of an apple tree and swing as the wind 
swayed the limb back and forth! And how 
delightfully easy it was to peck a dinner off 
of the mellow apples on either side, or to perch 

(63) 


64 


Tip and Tim 

on a blackberry bush and gorge themselves on 
the luscious fruit ! And how many silly worms 
there were crawling around as if they did not 
know that four bright eyes were watching for 
them; while the flies seemed really to like fly- 
ing under their noses and getting swallowed. 

All summer Tip and Tim kept near togeth- 
er, and had many a winged race and airy tum- 
ble; but summer does not last all the year for 
birds any more than it does for children. Aft- 
er a while cool winds began to blow that set 
the leaves and flowers to shivering with dread. 
They knew that Jack Frost was coming, but 
Tip and Tim did not. They only flew faster 
to keep warm, and when the leaves turned 
yellow and red they thought that the world 
was only growing more beautiful, though 
they wondered why there were no more ber- 
ries. But when the leaves began to fall and 
the trees grew bare and the flowers turned 
brown and shriveled away, the two gay little 
fellows began to think that something serious 
was going to happen. They could not sit still 
and think about it, however, for they needed 
to fly around actively to keep warm, and, be- 
sides, it took a good deal of searching now to 


65 


Tip and Tim 

find the food that they got so easily in the sum- 
mer time. They were brave and willing to 
work, and did not get discouraged and mope 
because playtime was over. O no; they flew 
and frisked around as jolly as ever. 

One morning a most astonishing thing hap- 
pened to them. They saw the air become sud- 
denly filled with what they at first thought was 
white feathers — so soft and light they were — 
but no, they were cold, O so cold to their little 
naked feet! What could it be? They fluffed 
up their own feathers until they' looked like 
two brown balls, and watched. Down came the 
snowflakes, rapidly but silently covering the 
ground, the fences, the trees, everything with 
a thick white blanket. Tip looked at Tim and 
Tim looked at Tip, as much as to say: “Well, 
old fellow, what shall we do now? We will 
starve if we sit here, but where can we find 
anything to eat, all covered up as it is? But 
we will try.” So they darted off here and 
there, and found some unexpected bits that sat- 
isfied their hunger. The snow continued to 
fall, and grew deeper and deeper for several 
days, and the brave little birds found it almost 
impossible to get a mouthful to eat. They got 
5 


66 


Tip and Tim 

very hungry. They had a little chirping talk 
together, then flew briskly off, one, this way, 
the other that. I think that they arranged to 
hunt in different places, and if either found 
anything he would call the other. 

Tip flew quickly toward a farmhouse, and 
looked closely all around. At last he spied a 
fresh wisp of hay that looked warm and as if 
there might be something to eat near it. And 
sure enough there was, for no sooner had he 
alighted by the side of it than there, right be- 
fore his eyes, was a piece of red apple. With- 
out a moment’s thought Tip jumped to peck 
it, when down fell something that shut out the 
light, and he felt himself held tight in the dark- 
ness. He struggled vainly to get but of the 
trap prison in which he was caught. O how he 
longed to be free with Tim in the woods once 
more ! In a few moments he heard the running 
of feet and loud voices. One said : “My trap 
is down. I’ve got one.” And then a hand was 
put under the trap and drew the poor, fright- 
ened bird out. He cried and fluttered, but 
could not get away. His captor, a rosy-faced 
boy, and two other boys carried him with tri- 
umph into a kitchen where a woman was 


67 


Tip and Tim 

standing by a great fire. The boy cried out: 
“Now, mother, we have a dozen birds, and we 
must have the pie that you promised.” 

“All right,” said the mother; “put him on 
the table with the others.” 

Tip gave one quick glance at the table, and 
saw a heap of little headless brown birds just 
like himself. Then he knew nothing more. 

All this time Tim was flying on and on over 
the white frozen snow until he saw the light 
of a bright fire shining through a window full 
of green plants. “Ah !” he sighed, “how pleas- 
ant and warm and green it all looks in there !” 
And he sat on the limb of a tree near by to 
rest. Presently a little girl came to the win- 
dow and looked out from among the green 
leaves. Then a smaller child came, and she 
pointed her finger at Tim, and her rosy mouth 
seemed to say how sorry she was for the cold, 
hungry bird ! In a few moments they ran off, 
and Tim was just about to fly away in his 
search for food when they came back with a 
sweet-faced, silvery-haired old lady, who gen- 
tly raised the window, then the children scat- 
tered crumbs and seed on the ledge. At first 
Tim was frightened and flew to a higher 


68 


Tip and Tim 

branch ; but the food looked very tempting, and 
as soon as the children stood back from the 
window down dropped the hungry little bird 
and pecked shyly at the feast spread for him 
by the kind-hearted children. Then he remem- 
bered Tip, and away he flew to hunt up his 
brother. He hunted here, he hunted there, he 
hunted everywhere, but never did he find poor 
Tip. Ah, no, he had been baked in a pie, and 
the greedy boy who ate him had just one mo- 
ment’s pleasure, then forgot the little life that 
he had taken. So Tim had to go back alone to 
the house where the kind children lived. Al- 
ready they had put out a fresh supply of food 
for him, and continued to do so every day 
while the cold winter lasted. He grew to know 
and love them so well that he was not afraid 
to eat his dinner while their bright faces were 
pressed against the glass. And he was a con- 
stant source of pleasure to them, with his 
quick-glancing eyes and his happy chirp, which 
came to be almost a song of thanks by the 
time the spring flowers blossomed. 


The Bean’s Life 


The wind was cold and the sun did not 
shine that day when the Bean was gathered 
with many others from the vine. He was not 
nearly so sorry as he would have been if he 
had been pulled off in the summer, when all 
was joy within and brightness without. Life 
was quite dull now and a change would be 
pleasant, he thought. But when he found 
himself shut up in a dark bag it was duller 
than ever, and as the days went by he longed 
so to see the light that he said in his heart, 
“What is my life worth if I must always 
stay in this darkness?’’ and he grew unhappy 
as well as dull. 

Then the spirit of Hope came and whis- 
pered a bright, beautiful story to the Bean, al- 
most as beautiful as the memory of last sum- 
mer. And he was glad. But as the days and 
weeks went by and still the dream was not 
realized, he began to grow restless in his eager- 
ness for a larger life. 

He needed her, so the spirit of Patience 

(69) 


70 


The Bean’s Life 


came and sang a soft, sweet song that was 
full of peace, and as he listened he was willing 
to wait. Through the long, cold winter he 
waited. Sometimes a hand was put into the 
bag and a number of his fellows were taken 
out, never to return. He knew not where 
they went, and was tempted to wonder why 
they were released and he must stay. (How 
could he know they were cooked and eaten?) 
But just so often the spirit of Trust cheered 
him with the words : “All is well.” 

At last the bag was opened, and as the sun- 
light rushed in he saw the same man who had 
pulled him from the vine. Would he put 
him back on the same dear old vine, as he 
often imagined would be done for him some 
day, and let him have a chance to grow larger 
through another summer? No, there were 
no vines near; and O, was this to be the end 
of his beautiful dream, to be buried in the 
cold, dark ground? As the man drew the 
earth gently over the poor, disappointed Bean, 
he did not hear the sigh that almost crushed 
the little life. “I die, I die !” he said. 

Once more the spirit of Trust whispered, 
“All is well,” and the spirit of Patience said: 


The Bean’s Life 


71 


“Wait.” It was hard to do when he could 
not understand, but the little Bean trusted and 
waited ; and the sun shone until its earthen bed 
grew warm, and the showers made it soft 
and comfortable. As he lay there the joyous 
spirit of Hope came, and this time the dream 
he whispered was so bright and entrancing 
that it seemed to the Bean that it was sum- 
mer right now. A strange joy thrilled through 
his body until he felt he would burst with 
gladness. He stretched forth his arms to 
shout, and pushed his two hands up through 
the earth toward heaven. 

Ah! now he was beginning to understand 
how his old life must die to give new life to 
that into which he was to grow. He would 
hope and trust and wait to see whereunto it 
would come. So day after day with eager 
joy the Bean drank in the rain and sunshine 
and, still stretching up its arms to heaven, grew, 
not a larger bean to be only for itself, but into 
a vine with long, slender stems and beautiful 
green leaves. After a while he was covered 
with lovely white flowers, and he said : “Surely 
this is the best thing for my life, just to stand 
here and be strong and beautiful.” 


72 


The Bean’s Life 


No; there was a better thing than that for 
the Bean, to reach which he must give up the 
beautiful flowers that had given him such de- 
light. How he grieved to see their white petals 
scattered on the ground! But when in their 
place he felt the tiny green pods forming and 
growing larger and larger he knew that there 
were within them a number of beans like him- 
self, and he understood it all. He had lived 
and suffered and labored that others might 
have life, and for this only was there reason 
for his own life. 


Karl and Gretchen’s Christmas 

[This story is a prose rendering of a little poem 
read years ago and lost as to the name of both author 
and publisher. It is based on the beautiful legend, so 
popular among German children, that the Christ-child 
passes through the streets on Christmas eve, leaving 
presents at each door for the children, who place their 
little wooden shoes on the threshold to receive them.] 

Christmas morning had come with sun- 
shine and good cheer to all around the little 
German home where Karl and Gretchen lived, 
but to them it had brought only disappoint- 
ment and wondering sorrow; for when, at 
early dawn, they ran to the door to find what 
the Christ-child had left in their little wooden 
shoes, they had found them empty. 

“Surely the Christ-child hath forgot as he 
passed this way, and will come again with our 
gifts,” said Gretchen to comfort her little 
brother. 

So all day long they watched for his re- 
turn, talking of it in low tones, that their 
sad- faced mother might not hear and weep. 

“See, Gretchen, Hans and Gotleib both have 

(73) 


74 Karl and Gretchen’s Christmas 

sleds, and Ernest a gun! Ah, the Christ- 
child did not forget them !” 

“Yes, and Katrine and Mina have such 
beautiful dolls! Strange that he could re- 
member them rather than us, for they already 
have so much. But never mind, Karl, he will 
find when he reaches his beautiful palace that 
he has forgotten us, and come again.” 

“Have you ever seen his palace, sister?” 

“No; but mother says it is all of gold, and 
the light shines from it more brightly than 
from the sun.” 

The day passed on, and still the eager faces 
were pressed against the window pane, watch- 
ing for Him who came not. With the sunset 
came the snow, so soft and fleecy white it 
made one think of angel’s wings. Gretchen’s 
eyes grew wide and bright with a thought that 
brought new hope. 

“O Karl, we will go and find the Christ- 
child’s home, and tell him he has forgot; then 
he will gladly give to us as to the other chil- 
dren !” 

“But we are so little, and we do not know 
the way,” pleaded Karl. 

“Ah, dear one, there are so many who know 


Karl and Gretchen’s Christmas 75 


and love Him that some one can surely point 
us the way.” 

Hand in hand they started on their quest, 
going from street to street and inquiring from 
door to door: “Can you tell us where the 
Christ-child dwells ?” 

All answered “No,” some with a smile and 
some with a sigh. 

Chilled and weary, they passed out from 
the city’s busy streets into the country, asking 
every wayfaring man they met the same ques- 
tion, until at last in the dark and fast-driving 
snow they lost their way. Gretchen’s faith 
did not fail, and she spoke cheeringly to Karl 
(who was weeping), and wrapped him in her 
own cloak. At last, not knowing which way 
to turn, she knelt with her arms around Karl, 
and prayed: “Dear God, show us where the 
Christ-child lives! We are so tired and cold, 
and we cannot find the way ; and we must tell 
him he has forgotten Karl and me.” 

Rising, they stumbled on through the snow- 
drifts, when, as they turned a bend in the road 
— wonder of wonders — there stood before 
their delighted eyes a palace, whose every win- 
dow gleamed with light, and from within came 


76 Karl and Gretchen’s Christmas 


the sound of music and laughter. With cries 
of joy they ran to the great oaken door and 
knocked, but so timidly they would scarce have 
been heard if good Herr Kremwitz had not 
-stood near. Opening the door himself, he 
saw two little forms, like storm-driven birds, 
standing on his threshold. Their trembling 
voices eagerly cried: “Please, sir, does the 
Christ-child live here? We have sought him 
-everywhere, to tell Him he has forgotten us. 
Tell us, does he dwell within ?” 

For a moment the good Herr paused, look- 
ing with tender pity upon the upturned faces ; 
then with reverent voice said: “Surely the 
Christ-child does dwell here with me and mine. 
Come in, little birdlings, and you will find He 
has not forgot, but left your gifts with me.” 

He led them into a grand hall, glowing with 
light and warmth and beautiful with silken 
draperies and Christmas wreaths of holly and 
pine. A crowd of richly-dressed men and 
women came around the dazed wanderers and 
with them rosy-cheeked children looking like 
fairies in their gay dresses. But beyond all 
these Karl and Gretchen gazed with wonder 
upon a brilliantly lighted Christmas tree hang- 


Karl and Gretchen’s Christmas 77 

ing heavy with beautiful toys and other Christ- 
mas delights. Ah, now they knew He dwelt 
there, and they would have their .gifts! 

Kind words were spoken to them. Kind 
hands led them to the great blazing fire and 
chafed their benumbed bodies. And as they 
told their story of a widowed mother, a cheer- 
less home, and this last sorrow of being for- 
gotten by the Christ-child, tear-dimmed eyes 
looked tenderly upon them, and all tried to 
cheer and please their little guests. From the 
Christmas tree they received warm, bright 
wrappings for their shivering bodies, and beau- 
tiful toys suited to each, with fruit and cakes 
to please their tastes; but the most delightful 
of all were a red sled for Karl and a lovely 
doll for Gretchen. 

When the tree was stripped, then came mer- 
ry games, and the hours sped away with bliss- 
ful swiftness. But ere the hour for parting 
came, Herr Kremwitz gathered his children 
and kinsfolk around him and told once more 
the beautiful story of the angel host who sang 
to the wondering shepherds, “Glory to God in 
the highest, and on earth peace, good will to- 
ward men;” and of the tender mother watch- 


78 Karl and GretcherPs Christmas 


ing by the manger, where lay the Christ-child, 
whose coming brought salvation to man; and 
of the wise men who humbly knelt and offered 
their gifts and worshiped the Prince of Peace. 
So tenderly he taught of this greatest, best gift 
of God, that it gave a new meaning to their 
Christmas giving, and all who heard felt that 
surely the Christ-child did dwell in that heart 
and home. 

Wrapped in warm furs, and nestling cozily 
in the kind man’s sleigh, Karl and Gretchen 
were carried home to their anxious mother; 
and ever after she and they found a friend 
and benefactor in good Herr Kremwitz. 


Legend of the Christmas Tree 

Where was the first Christmas tree? and 
when? The Germans tell their children this 
legend as they gather around the fire on Christ- 
mas Eve: 

Once, O so many years ago, a woodsman 
with his wife and two pretty children lived in 
a little hut on the border of a great dark forest. 
They were rough and poor, but their hearts 
were both kind and merry as they sat by their 
blazing fire on Christmas Eve and ate their 
simple supper. It was bitter cold outside — 
snowing and blowing — and they could hear 
the branches breaking and falling from the 
trees, and occasionally the loud howl of a wolf. 
Presently there came a timid rapping at the 
door, where the snow lay in great drifts, and 
a child’s voice crying : “Let me in, I pray thee, 
or I shall die from cold.” The children ran 
to the door and, throwing it wide open, drew 
into the room a little shivering child. 

“Ah, dear heart,” the mother cried, “whither 
hast thou come ?” 

Standing upon the hearthstone, in the light 

( 79 ) 


80 Legend of the Christmas Tree 

of the blazing pine knots, he looked around 
upon their kind, sympathetic faces, then told 
a piteous tale of hunger, fright, and lonely 
wanderings in the forest that wild night. 

The woodman’s children wept as they lis- 
tened; then putting their arms around the lit- 
tle waif, they begged him to stay with them, 
offering to share with him their humble home 
and meager fare. With a glad smile he re- 
turned their embraces and accepted their prof- 
fered gifts. Sweetly they comforted him and 
gave him the bread that had been put aside for 
their breakfast; then covered him warmly in 
their snug bed, while they slept on a bench by 
the fire. 

As Christmas morning dawned they were 
all aroused by the most entrancing music that 
mortals ever heard. Springing with amaze- 
ment to the door, their eyes were dazzled by 
the radiance of a shining throng of angels play- 
ing upon golden harps. As they played they 
sang in sweet accord : 

“O, Holy Child, we greet theel 
Our love goes forth to meet thee. 

Blest be the home that shields thee, 

That love and comfort yields thee!” 


Legend of the Christmas Tree 81 

The children gazed in wonder at the scene. 
Then, turning, saw the stranger child stand- 
ing behind them — but O how changed! His 
worn garments were gone, and he was clad 
in gleaming robes, with a golden crown upon 
his head and a glory light in his beautiful 
face. With their parents they fell on their 
knees before him and heard with rapture his 
words: “The blessing of the Christ-child be 
upon thee and thy home. I thus pass through 
the world on Christmas night, seeking the 
loving-hearted, that I may reward their kind- 
ly deeds.” 

With kingly grace he left the poor dwell- 
ing, but paused outside, and, plucking a fir 
twig, planted it there, saying that it should 
grow to be a tree bearing golden fruit and 
silver nuts and all things that bring good chil- 
dren pleasure. Then, together with the angels, 
he vanished from their sight; but ere the 
echoes of the heavenly music died away, lo, 
there stood a beautiful Christmas tree, gleam- 
ing with light and laden with children’s treas- 
ures ! 

This is only a legend, but, dear children, 
will you not learn the lesson it teaches? On 
6 


82 Legend of the Christmas Tree 

Christmas Eve will you not put out your hands 
to help the cold and hungry little ones so near 
your door? You may never see them trans- 
formed and surrounded by angels here, but 
you may sometime and somewhere. Remem- 
ber what Christ said : “Inasmuch as ye did it 
unto one of the least of these, ... ye 
did it unto me.” He receives what you do for 
the poor, and gives his blessing in return. 


Frank’s Christmas Giving 

Christmas was drawing near, and Frank 
counted once more the many pennies and few 
nickels he had been hoarding for months to 
buy Christmas presents for the other members 
of the household, from whom he counted on 
receiving much more. His mother sat by as 
confidante and adviser as to how the money 
was to be expended. Presently she laid her 
hand on his curly head and said: “Frank, it 
is not true giving when it is done expecting 
to receive a return of the same. You have not 
planned for a single unselfish gift; therefore 
you will not know the blessedness of giving.” 

Lifting his eyes to his mother's face, Frank 
looked at her silently and steadily for a mo- 
ment, then said: “Tell me how to give un- 
selfishly, mamma, and who to give to.” 

She bowed her head over his and said : “We 
will ask God how much and to whom He would 
have you give. Ask him yourself, my son.” 

The prayer that followed was direct and sim- 
ple: “Our Father who art in heaven, I am just 

(83) 


84 Frank’s Christmas Giving 

six years old, and I have got some Christmas 
money to buy presents with, and I want to do 
something unselfish with a part of it. Mamma 
thinks I ought, and so do I ; but I don't know 
exactly how. I guess that’s because I ain’t used 
to it. Won’t you please tell me who to give 
something to that won’t give me anything, 
’cause they can’t ? and how much shall I spend 
for it? Remember, I am just a little boy, 
and ain’t got much money. I think I’d rather 
give something to a poor boy; and if you 
would like me to give him more, please give 
me some more money. Forever and ever. 
Amen.” 

Straightening himself up, Frank said: 
“Mamma, do you know why I said that about 
a poor boy?” 

“No, dear. Did you think of some special 
poor boy ?” 

“Yes; he just popped into my mind right 
while I was praying. You know that boy that 
brought your package yesterday? Well, while 
he was waiting we got to talking, and I asked 
him what he wanted to get Christmas, and he 
said : ‘I ’low I won’t git nothin ' — I never does.’ 
I asked him if his parents wouldn’t give him 


Frank’s Christmas Giving 85 

something, and he said he never had none, just 
nobody belonged to him but just one little 
brother, and he was crippled last spring while 
he was selling papers, and every bit of money 
the big brother can make has to be used to 
‘pay rent and buy victuals/ he said ; but he did 
wish he could get ‘the poor little chap' a Christ- 
mas gift. Now, mamma, don’t you think God 
would like for me to give ‘the poor little chap’ 
something? ’Cause he can’t give me nothing 
back?” 

“Yes,” said his mother, “I think God has 
answered your prayers by reminding you of 
this poor child, and we will see what we can 
do for him.” 

On inquiry the boy’s home was found, and 
Mrs. Dean and Frank went to see him in his 
little attic room, carrying with them a basket 
of fruit. The chief purpose of their visit was 
to discover the real needs of little crippled Ben, 
a bright- faced, cheery lad of ten, who, though 
surprised by their call, soon became friendly 
and confidential. 

“Yes, I find it lonely sometimes; but if Jim 
can bring me a paper I read that, or make up 
stories out of my head. It is cold sometimes, 


86 Frank’s Christmas Giving 

but this nice piece of carpet Jim bought is 
good and warm.” And he pointed with pride 
to a threadbare rug wrapped around him. 
Then, with a shadow coming over his face, he 
said: “If I just could get some crutches, I 
would get and sell papers again and help Jim.” 

Christmas Eve brought a new joy to Frank 
Dean. Grandpa had given him money instead 
of the usual present, and this, added to a part 
of his savings, gave him money enough to buy 
the crutches so longed for by little Ben. (He 
was to go to school in the morning and sell 
papers in the afternoon.) And with the 
crutches was to go a good warm suit of clothes 
from Mrs. Dean, while Mr. Dean was plan- 
ning better-paid work for Jim. All this 
Frank rejoiced over fully; but when he went 
to see Ben the next morning and took grand- 
ma's Christmas dinner for him and Jim, the 
three boys rejoiced together, and he was never 
so happy in his life. 

“Mamma,” he said that night, “I am sure 
God made me think about Jim and Ben, and 
don’t you see he gave me two answers to my 
prayers — how to give my money, and then 
more of it to give? Yes, and he did more than 


Frank’s Christmas Giving 87 

I asked for, for he made the rest of you think 
about giving to him. Don’t you see ?” 

“And, mamma,” the sleepy little fellow said 
as he raised his head from the pillow, “I be- 
lieve that other thing too, ‘It is more blesseder 
to give than to receive.’ ” 


John’s Victory 

John was a very good boy, but he had some 
faults that troubled his parents. He had a 
quick temper, which he did not control at all 
times. If he were playing and was hurt, he 
became angry and said rude, ugly words to 
his playmates, which hurt their feelings or 
made them angry with him, so that a quarrel 
or fight would often follow. To be sure, he 
would be sorry for it afterwards, but that 
was being sorry too late. His parents had 
talked to him a great deal about this fault, 
had prayed to God to help him overcome it, and 
had punished him for the bad words he said 
and bad things he did when he was angry. 
While he was little he did not seem to care 
to get the better of this fault, but as he grew 
older he began to be both ashamed and sorry 
when he flew into a passion and tried to con- 
quer his temper. 

One day as he was playing in the back yard 
he heard his little sister calling him : “O John, 
won't you be my horse ? I’m so tired playing 
by myself.” John stopped and looked into 
( 88 ) 


89 


John’s Victory 

her sweet face. “Please, John! I think you 
would make such a nice horse ! I’ll hitch you 
to my express wagon and give Mary Rosa a 
ride. ,, 

“Well, Allie, I’ll play with you for a while,” 
he said good-naturedly, “but I told Gabe that 
I would go over to his house this morning.” 

“O, you dear, good boy !” cried Allie, throw- 
ing her arms around his neck. “Now you 
must be a good horsey, too, and not turn my 
wagon over and break my doll,” she said mer- 
rily as she tied her string harness with some 
difficulty on John’s arms, who thought that if 
he were a horse he must prance and neigh. 

Away they went around the yard, horse 
and driver both in full gallop, while Mary 
Rosa was jolted in a way that ought to have 
made her thankful that she was stuffed with 
cotton instead of having flesh and bones. 
What merry peals of laughter rang out on 
the air! It was enough to drive away the 
blues of any old fogy. 

Presently another boy came into the yard, 
and at sight of him John stopped short and 
shouted: “Hello, Gabe! what’s that you got?” 

“I’m going to have a blacksmith shop,” said 


90 


John's Victory 

Gabe as they met. “See, I’ve got some tin to 
cut horseshoes out of, and this punch to make 
holes through it, and here are some tacks. See 
here, now, let me put some shoes on you, so 
you will look like a horse, sure ’nough.” 

“Won’t that be nice?” said John and Allie 
together. The back steps were chosen for the 
shop, but never was a horse frightened so 
often when taken to be shod, and never did 
a horse need so much whipping with so small 
a stick! Gabe was well pleased to have a 
chance to test his skill as a blacksmith, and 
while Allie held John’s bridle he took one of 
his feet between his knees and proceeded to 
cut and fit a tin shoe to John’s heel. 

“Rat-a-tat-tat” went Gabe’s hammer driv- 
ing the tacks. 

“Whoa, horsey, whoa!” piped Allie’s baby 
voice, while John nickered until you would 
have thought that the yard was full of horses. 
His mother sat at a window and watched the 
scene with amusement. Gabe looked away 
from his work for a second, when his ham- 
mer missed the tack and struck John’s ankle 
joint. Suddenly John gave the yell of a boy 
and the plunge of a horse that changed the 


91 


John’s Victory 

whole scene. The blacksmith fell forward 
over the wagon and doll, and A llie, with the 
sudden jerk of the bridle, lost her footing 
and tumbled down on top of Gabe, while John 
sat on the pavement and rubbed his ankle. 

Bridget came rushing from the kitchen and 
screamed: “O, mercy on us! has the light- 
ning struck the children? Allie, me darlint, 
be quit wi’ ye squealing an’ tell me if yer kilt 
entirely. Ah! Gabe, me boy, glad I am ter 
see it’s laughing yez are, but ye ’av’ an ugly 
scratch on the face of yez. An’ what’s the 
matter wi’ you, John? Yer face is as red as 
yer head, which is sayin’ a good deal fer it. 
An’ is it yer foot as ye ’av’ hurt?” 

That John was angry was plain; but it was 
also plain that he was making a brave effort to 
control himself, and a quick prayer went up 
to God for him. He held his lips close shut 
while the other children scrambled to their 
feet; then his mother saw him lift up his head 
and smile, and she knew that he had won the 
victory. The three children looked at each 
other a moment with tears in their eyes, then 
began to laugh. 

Bridget was bewildered. “Faith, an’ I be- 


92 John’s Victory 

lieve the lightning has gone to their heads as 
bad as the whisky,” she said. 

“How could there be lightning when there 
are no clouds, Bridget?” said Gabe with a 
louder laugh. Then turning to John, he said 
in a frank, manly way: “I’m awfully sorry I 
hit your ankle, John. I hope it isn’t hurt 
much.” 

John’s face flushed again, and again he 
shut his lips tight. This time the victory was 
complete, and he answered in the same manly 
tone: “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, 
an’ I guess it’ll stop hurtin’ after a while. I’m 
sorry I knocked you and Allie over. Are you 
hurt ?” 

Gabe made light of the scratch on his chin, 
and Allie said: “Gabe’s back was so soft that 
I didn’t get hurted myself, but I was so scared 
he might break Mary Rosa, but she jumped 
down in the bottom of the wagon an’ ain’t 
hurted either — an’ I’m so glad.” 

Down in his heart John felt very glad too, 
for he had controlled his temper without say- 
ing a word or striking a blow. The others 
went off and left him standing under the win- 
dow. A soft voice spoke his name. He 


93 


John’s Victory 

looked up to see his mother’s smiling face, 
and smiled back at her. They understood 
each other as she said gently: “He that is 
slow to anger is better than the mighty; and 
he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a 
city.” 


Captain Dick 

“I must be the captain/’ said Dick, “ ’cause 
my papa was a captain in the army, and of 
course I know more ’bout it than you do.” 

‘‘But I’m the biggest,” said Jim, “and in all 
the pictures the captain is bigger than all his 
men.” 

“I think,” said Jennie, “that the captain 
ought to be the bravest one, ’cause he must 
keep his men from running away when the 
guns fire off.” 

“If de guns is doin’ ter do off, I’s doin’ 
away wite now,” said little Amy, her eyes 
getting round with fright. 

“You little goosey-poosey,” said Jennie, 
putting her arm around her, “don’t you know 
that stick guns can’t go off?” 

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” said Dick ; “let’s 
take turn about being captain till we see which 
is the best — us boys, I mean. Course girls 
can’t be captains nor nothin’ like that, and I’ll 
be it first.” 

“Why can’t girls be captains?” demanded 
( 94 ) 


Captain Dick 95 

Jennie, bracing herself up in front of Dick. 
“I know that they have been.” 

“Now just tell us when,” sneeringly ques- 
tioned Dick. “I know there wasn’t any in my 
papa’s army.” 

“My mamma read me a story about a brave, 
strong queen named — named ‘Hippy-le-ter,’ 
or something like that, and she rode in a char- 
iot and her long hair flew back in the wind and 
a whole lot of women named Amazons fol- 
lowed after her, ’cause they were braver than 
the men in that country. And when she was 
taken prisoner” — 

“Yes, yes, you see that she was beat! Of 
course a lot of women was going to get beat. 
We don’t want our captain to get beat, do we, 
Jim? I’ll show you how a captain should 
stand his ground.” 

Jennie’s face fell for a moment, then bright- 
ened as she said triumphantly: “Well, Debo- 
rah never got beat ; she was braver than Barak, 
for he said that he wouldn’t go a step to the 
battle unless she went with him. So there 
now, mister, you see what women in the Bible 
can do !” 

“Well, you are no woman in the Bible, and 


96 


Captain Dick 

you can’t be our captain, ’cause we won’t let 
you,” said Dick; “but you may beat my drum 
if you will beat it real loud and take care not 
to burst the head in.” 

The woman question being settled, Jennie 
took the drum and prepared to fall into line. 
Jim, with a very long stick for a gun, stepped 
up beside her, while little Amy on the other 
side held up her stick and tried to- look as much 
like a soldier as possible. Dick placed himself 
in front of his company and held up his head 
as high as if he were a major general. 

“Now,” said Captain Dick, “stand steady, 
my boys. All of you put out your right foot.” 

All put out the left foot, which the captain 
did not notice. 

“Ground your arms.” 

Amy dropped down and stretched her arms 
out on the ground. The boys laughed, and 
Amy was about to cry, when Jennie, stopping 
her drum-beating, ordered them to “shut up,” 
and comforted the little girl. 

Order being restored, Dick went on drilling 
his soldiers in a lordly way. Then he told 
them that the enemy were hidden behind those 
bushes, which was a fort. “And now, my 


97 


Captain Dick 

men,” said he, “you must be as brave as lions, 
and run up and kill 'em. You mustn’t be 
scared, even if the cannons fire at you. Sol- 
diers ain’t afraid of nothing, you know. You 
must be brave like your captain, and do what- 
ever you see him do.” He closed his speech 
with a swagger. 

Just then a big bumblebee came buzzing by 
and — dab! it hit Captain Dick right in the 
face. “O ! O !” yelled brave Captain Dick, and, 
dropping his gun, he ran screaming across the 
field like a dozen cannons had been fired at 
him. 

Down went Jim’s and Amy’s guns, and, like 
true soldiers, they scampered off after their 
captain, and away went the angry bee like an 
enemy at their heels. 

Jennie was left standing alone beating her 
drum, not knowing the cause of the flight of 
the army. But when she heard Dick’s con- 
tinued cries of distress she hurried to where 
he was rolling on the grass. Learning what 
was the matter, she remembered what to do, 
and, quickly gathering some ragweed, rubbed 
it on the swollen cheek until the smart was 
eased. They looked like a very doleful little 
7 


98 


Captain Dick 

group of soldiers as they sat on the ground 
looking at their brave captain with his cheek 
puffed out like he had a walnut in his mouth, 
and his face smeared with tears and dirt mixed 
with green ragweed. 

Presently Jennie said with a twinkle in her 
eye: “It took more than a bumblebee to make 
Queen Hippy-le-ter run, and when she was 
beat she never cried a single bit.” 

‘‘I don’t care if she didn’t,” whined Dick. 
“I know that you'd ’a’ cried if that old bee had 
stung you.” 

Jennie sat silent a moment, then said truth- 
fully: “Yes, Dick, I would have cried; but it 
wouldn’t have been just ’cause I was a girl , 
you see.” 


The Mission of Mary Rose 

Miss Mary Rose spent the first part of her 
life in a beautiful nursery, where she was the 
pet and pride of a lovely little girl whose eyes 
were as blue as her own and whose hair was 
even more like spun gold. She was only a 
doll, but she had fine clothes of silk and mus- 
lin and lace, and a dainty little bed whereon 
she was laid as regularly as little Margaret 
was put in her own snowy crib. They lived a 
luxurious life together, and it was such a pity 
that Mary Rose was not more conscious of it. 
Rut then if she had been, it might have spoiled 
her for the life she was called to live after- 
wards. 

One day Cousin Hilda came to see Marga- 
ret’s mother. She was the sweetest cousin in 
the world, and told lovely stories; so Marga- 
ret came in and sat by her side and listened. 
She seemed to be telling mamma a story. 

“O, it was a dreadful place — the worst I 
ever saw! The rooms were small and dirty, 
and so crowded I don’t see how the people 

( 99 ) 


100 The Mission of Mary Rose 

found room to sleep. And such a number of 
children! I felt like crying over the poor lit- 
tle ragged, dirty, forlorn things. I left Mrs. 
Downs to talk to the mothers, and I called the 
children around me in the hall and tried to 
talk to them ; but they looked at me so stupidly. 
I asked one little girl if she had a doll. She 
looked at me without a word, then said with a 
jerk: ‘I hain’t never teched one in my life!' 
I found not one of the dozen around me owned 
a doll — except one, who showed me a stick 
wrapped up in a rag, which aroused the envy 
of all the others. It did seem pitiful!” 

Margaret’s blue eyes opened wide with pity 
over such a woeful tale. “Cousin Hilda, did 
you say she had never touched a doll? If you 
think she would like to hold my Mary Rose 
for a little while, I will lend her to her.” 

Both of the ladies looked at the eager face 
of the child as if they did not know what to 
say. A thought flashed through Hilda’s mind, 
and she looked a question to Mrs. Young, who 
said: “If Margaret wants you to take the doll, 
do so. She will send Mary Rose on a mission 
of love.” 

The next day Cousin Hilda carried Mary 


The Mission of Mary Rose 101 

Rose on her first visit to “Beggar's Alley;" 
and such an impression she made when held 
up before a dozen admiring eyes, a dazzling 
vision! In a moment there were more than 
two dozen eyes, and the dirty little crowd 
pushed and shoved to get nearest the angelic 
creature. 

“Children, listen," said Hilda. “A little 
girl sent this doll to see you, because I told her 
you did not have one. Which one of you said 
she had never touched a doll?" 

“ ’Twas Nan," said a little girl ; “but I ain’t 
never, neither." 

Nan was pushed forward. 

“Now, Nan, I will let you hold Mary Rose 
first. But O my! Look at your hands ! They 
will soil her dress. Can’t you wash them?" 

Nan looked with surprise at her hands, then 
dashed off to the pump at the corner, and came 
back wiping them on her dirty frock. She 
grinned with delight as the doll was put into 
her hands, and gazed at its rosy face and lace 
dress with wondering eyes. Then she clasped 
it to her ragged breast and pressed kiss after 
kiss upon its unanswering lips. 

“You may walk up and down the pavement 


102 The Mission of Mary Rose 

with it for a while/’ said Hilda, “and then 
another little girl who has washed her hands 
may have it.” 

Some of the children rushed for the pump, 
while others watched Nan and joined in the 
cackling laugh of delight that burst from her 
now and then. 

Many little hands in various stages of clean- 
liness clasped the doll and walked up and down, 
and I must confess that Mary Rose stood it 
remarkably well. She just kept on smiling. 
When all had had a turn, Cousin Hilda car- 
ried her off, promising: “I will bring Mary 
Rose to see you again next Saturday, and I 
want every one who wishes to hold her to 
have clean hands and faces when I come.” 

Margaret was delighted that her pet had 
given the little alley children so much pleasure, 
and told Cousin Hilda she might take her as 
often as she liked. 

On Saturday Hilda and Mary R'ose were 
greeted with cheers when they came into the 
alley, and a number of clean hands were 
stretched out to show they were “jis’ as clean!” 

After Mary Rose had been passed around 
from one to the other, Miss Hilda told them a 


The Mission of Mary Rose 103 

beautiful story, to which they listened won- 
deringly. Then she asked them if they would 
not like to go with her to a pretty room and 
play. 

“Would Mary Rose be there?” 

“Yes.” 

Then they would go. The mothers con- 
sented, and soon the whole gang passed timid- 
ly into a kindergarten, where there were other 
children playing merrily. Clean aprons were 
put on them, and some young ladies sang and 
played on the piano and taught them a strange, 
new game. It was entrancing. And there 
was Mary Rose sweetly smiling over the good 
she had done. Thus her mission life began, 
and the kindergarten became her home, for 
Margaret’s mother thought it better for her 
to be entirely given up to the children. It was 
a pity she could not know how much pleasure 
she gave Nan and the others to whom the best 
reward for cleanliness, politeness, and good 
nature was to walk up and down with Mary 
Rose. She never lost her charm, though, as 
week after week of service went by, she grew 
dilipidated. One foot, then the other disap- 
peared, then an arm, and her hair looked like 


104 The Mission of Mary Rose 

her little mothers’; but still she smiled as she 
cuddled close to the little hearts that she made 
happy and taught to love. 

And Margaret in her beautiful nursery was 
happier for the happiness she had helped to 
give to others. 


Elizabeth’s Home and the Other 
Homes 

Elizabeth opened her eyes and from her 
little white bed looked around her pretty room 
with its soft carpet, muslin curtains, and pink 
walls on which hung the pictures she loved. 
On one side was a bureau filled with nice 
clothes; in a corner was a desk and a book- 
case combined, where she could read or write 
as she pleased. She examined these things as 
if she saw them for the first time, for a new 
thought had come into her mind that opened 
her eyes to see things — a thought that she 
could not get away from. 

Yesterday Elizabeth had heard her mother 
and the deaconess talking about a place in their 
city called the “slums.” She had asked where 
and what it was, and Miss Johnson had looked 
at her kindly and said : “It is in the lower part 
of the city, where little children like you live 
in dreadful homes and have but little clothing 
and food and small chance to learn anything 
good.” 


(105) 


106 


Elizabeth’s Home 


Then her mother said: “Elizabeth does not 
know how much she has to be thankful for.” 

All this came back to her as she waked, and 
she realized the comfort and beauty around 
her. She remembered it as she bathed and 
dressed; and later as she ate a nice, warm 
breakfast from dainty china, with flowers on 
the table; and still again as her father read 
the Bible and prayed, all the while her mother 
looking so good and kind. Then in her heart 
she said: “O God, I thank you for all the 
nice things, and especially for father and 
mother.” 

She had heard her mother promise Miss 
Johnson to go with her to-day to see some of 
the poor people in the “slums,” and she asked 
so earnestly to be allowed to go with her that 
after a little hesitation consent was given. 

When they left the carriage and walked 
down a narrow alley, Elizabeth held fast to 
her mother’s hand, for she did not like the 
dingy look and dirty smell, and the people 
they met looked hard at them. Miss Johnson 
knocked at the door of a shabby house, and a 
gruff “Come in” sounded scary to her. A 
man with a red face tried to stagger to his 


Elizabeth’s Home 


107 


feet as they went in, but sank down, too drunk 
to stand. Several ragged, dirty children stood 
around the little stove and stared. A weak 
voice from a bed in a dark corner said: “I am 
mighty glad you come, sister; I ’lowed you 
never would come back when you seed the 
bad place we live in. I ain’t no better, just 
sufferin’ all the time with my head and back* 
and there ain’t nothin’ I can eat, and nobody 
to do anything for me or the baby. Dick is 
drunk again and lost his place, and the rent is 
nearly due; and wherever we are to get any 
money I don’t know. We’ll all starve ter 
death.” And the piteous, fretful voice broke 
into a wailing cry, in which the children 
joined, while the man muttered curses. Eliz- 
abeth was so frightened and distressed that 
she hid her face in her muff. 

“Don’t cry, Mrs. Pike; it won’t be so bad 
as that,” said Miss Johnson with kindly sym- 
pathy in her tone. “Hush, children; I have 
brought you something to eat.” Then, turn- 
ing to the woman again, she said: “I have 
brought a friend with me, and we will try to 
make you more comfortable.” 

The packages left in the carriage were 


108 


Elizabeth’s Home 


brought in, and Elizabeth watched the chil- 
dren eat greedily while her mother and the 
deaconess made the woman and the bed clean 
and gave her suitable food and medicine. The 
oldest girl (about Elizabeth’s age) was given 
some directions, and Miss Johnson promised to 
go back in the afternoon; then they went away. 

Several squares off they came to what her 
mother told her was a “tenement house,” 
which she thought must be a kind of orphan 
asylum from the number of children swarm- 
ing around the door, in the halls, and on the 
stairway. To one of these girls the deaconess 
said, “Come here, Sarah;” and a thin, dirty 
child came forward with a dirty, sickly-look- 
ing baby in her arms. “Is your mother at 
home?” 

“Naw. Pap’s run away and mam’s gone 
to work, and Benney’s hurted and hollerin’, so 
I brung Poll and the baby out to git rid of 
him.” 

The deaconess said gently : “I am sorry you 
left your little brother by himself. Show us 
the way, and I will go up and see what I can 
do for him.” 

The girl, with the baby on her hip, led them 


Elizabeth’s Home 


109 


up three flights of creaking stairs and along 
two dark halls. Everywhere there were filth 
and ill smells, and when doors were open the 
rooms were seen to be in the same state. In 
some there were men, women, and children 
bending over machines or sewing with the 
needle ; while in others they were drunken and 
quarreling. 

Sarah opened the door of a dark, bare lit- 
tle attic room, and they were greeted with a 
wail from a little fellow of about six huddled 
up on some ragged quilts. The deaconess ex- 
amined his poor little bleeding foot, washed it, 
and put on a bandage with a healing lotion 
which she took from an “emergency bag” she 
always carried on her arm. All the time she 
was talking to the child, and then sang a fun- 
ny little song that brought a smile to his lips. 
She then turned to Sarah, who was really try- 
ing to be a mother to the others, and, learning 
when the mother would return, promised to 
come again and bring some needed things. 

As Elizabeth and her mother went home 
they were silent, thinking of the wretched 
homes they had visited and of that last re- 
mark of Miss Johnson's: “There are thou- 


110 


Elizabeth’s Home 


sands of such homes as that in our great, rich 
America !” But out of the thoughtful silence 
came an earnest resolve to do more than ever 
before to redeem such homes, and a deeper 
thankfulness for their own pretty, happy home. 

“Mother,” said Elizabeth a few days later, 
“I have told the girls what we saw in the 
‘slums/ and Fannie Gray said she heard a 
lady talk about the homes in the mill town that 
she visited, and they were awful too, and the 
children, no larger than we are, have to work 
all day in mills and are so tired when they 
come out they can hardly eat the poor food 
they have, but just drop down and sleep. Then 
Maggie Bell told what her uncle had seen ’way 
back in the mountains — of houses without 
windows and no floors, and just one room 
where the pigs and dogs and chickens and all 
the family eat and cook and sleep. Then Kate 
Adams said there were lots of poor negroes 
living just as bad as any of these, and came 
from their homes to work in our houses. O 
mother, I did not know there were so manv 
unhappy, wretched homes — none of us girls 
did — and we are going to form a Home Mis- 
sion Society (a ‘Brigade/ Fannie called it), 


Elizabeth’s Home 


111 


and give our money to Miss Johnson to help 
make better some of the homes we saw. And, 
mother, I know now how much I have to be 
thankful for, and I do thank God every day 
for my home and for you and father and all 
you are to me.” 


Two Weeks in Camp 

“Hello, Joe. Do you know what’s up?” 

“Naw.” 

“Mr. Martin’s a-goin’ to take all us fellers 
in his class into the woods for two weeks, an’ 
we’ll live in tents an’ cook an’ swim an’ fish 
an’ eat our own fish what we ketch. Gee, won’t 
that be great ?” 

“What yer givin’ me, Ned? Who said so?” 

“He did, yistiddy; but you warn’t at Sun- 
day school to hear him, and he told me ter 
tell you all about it. We are to ask our paws 
and maws and meet him at the mission next 
Wednesday at nine o’clock sharp, d’ye hear? 
An’ bring some clean clothes tied up, an’ any- 
thing we want partic’lar to take; but there’ll 
be six of us, and nobody can take too much.” 
A twinkle came into Jim’s eyes as he added: 
“You needn’t take a set of furniture ner a 
swallertail coat ner a bulldog.” 

“Where we goin’, Jim?” asked Joe eagerly. 

“Som’ers — Mr. Martin, he knows — and 
we’ll be there till after the Fourth of July.” 

(IJ2) 


113 


Two Weeks in Camp 

Mr. Martin not only knew where they were 
going, but had made every arrangement to 
make his mission Sunday school class have a 
good time for two weeks — a class of six boys 
between the ages of twelve and fourteen. He 
had gained permission from a farmer he 
knew to encamp in a woodland that had a 
spring and a goocl-sized creek running 
through it and was not so far away from his 
house but that certain necessary things could 
be bought there when needed. He rented 
three tents, with the cots, tables, stools, and 
bedding, and bought a few cooking utensils 
and tin plates, cups, spoons, and knives and 
forks. To these he added some groceries, 
and arranged with the farmer and his wife 
for milk, eggs, potatoes, fresh corn, bacon, 
and bread three times a week. 

As Mr. Martin closed the door of his of- 
fice and went to meet the boys, he felt as he 
did when a boy himself starting out to play 
Robinson Crusoe, only now there were to be 
six other Robinsons to play with him, and 
but two of that number had ever been in the 
country in their lives. They reached the end 
of their journey, partly by rail and partly by 
8 


114 Two Weeks in Camp 

wagon, early in the day, and the six lads went 
eagerly to work, under Mr. Martin's direction, 
to set up the tents. A large one was in the cen- 
ter for Mr. Martin and the stores, and on each 
side a small one in which three boys could 
sleep comfortably if a little closely. They 
dug a ditch around each tent to carry off the 
water if it should rain, and they cut from the 
woods two short, forked sticks and a pole on 
which to hang a pot for boiling water. 

“Now," said Mr. Martin, “Ned, you and 
Joe go down to the spring with the buckets 
for water; and, Jack and Will, you bring from 
the woods some dry branches of trees to make 
a fire; and Ben and Jim will go with this bas- 
ket and note to that house over yonder, and 
the lady there will fill the basket." 

By the time the boys got back Mr. Martin 
had unpacked everything they needed, and 
stored the rest away in the tent. What fun 
they had making a fire, roasting potatoes and 
corn, and frying bacon and eggs in the skillet! 
With these and fresh, homemade bread, the 
boys felt that they had had a royal feast, and 
Mr. Martin ate with a keener appetite than for 
years. Dinner over, everything was washed 


Two Weeks in Camp 115 

up by the boys with the hot water from the 
pot and put away orderly. 

“Who wants to go fishing?” said Mr. Mar- 
tin. “Here are hooks and lines for all of you, 
and we will cut our poles in the woods.” 

Awkardly enough did the town lads handle 
their fishing tackle that first afternoon as they 
sat on the creek bank, and, except for Mr. 
Martin’s skill, they would not have had any 
fish to fry for supper; but before their two 
weeks of camp life were over they became good 
fishermen. After the fishing came a bath and 
a first lesson in swimming, then supper, then 
a half hour’s reading from “Robinson Cru- 
soe,” of which none had ever heard, then a 
few verses from the Bible and a prayer, then 
bed and dreamless sleep. 

Days of sunshine and happiness went by, full 
of the varied enjoyments of country boy life, 
in which they learned so much of trees, plants, 
animals, reptiles, and insects that they felt like 
they had been born over into a new world. 
They learned, too, many useful, practical 
things, and were made all the more eager to 
observe and to do by the story of “Robinson 
Crusoe” and the “Swiss Family Robinson” 


116 Two Weeks in Camp 

that followed it in their daily readings. Some 
funny things happened, too. 

Jack, a timid little fellow, came running 
terrified into camp the second day, saying he 
had heard a lion roar. A searching party 
started out in the direction from which he 
came, and the roaring lion turned out to be a 
cow bawling for her calf. 

The next morning, as fat Ben sat on the 
ground eating his breakfast, his pan and cup 
of coffee between his wide-stretched legs, a 
big toad frog came hopping along, and, be- 
fore he saw it, kersplash! he jumped right into 
the hot coffee. Ben tumbled over backward in 
astonishment, and gave a loud yell. The toad 
was more painfully astonished than Ben was, 
and hopped out of the hot coffee more than a 
foot high, and hop, hop, hop, hop away he 
went as fast as he could go. So Ben lost his 
coffee and the toad got too much. 

One day Will, a light-built, adventurous lit- 
tle fellow, was in the woods by himself and 
saw a squirrel run into a hole in a tree. Think- 
ing he could catch him, he climbed the tree 
and ran his hand into the hole. Instantly the 
squirrel's sharp teeth bit into his finger, and 


117 


Two Weeks in Camp 

Will started back so quickly that he lost his 
balance and fell — but not to the ground, which 
might have broken an arm or a leg. Fortu- 
nately, the seat of his pants caught on a short, 
broken limb, and he hung about fifteen feet 
from the ground with his arms and legs dan- 
gling in the air and looking very funny. He 
tried all in vain to get up on the limb, so he 
could climb down, and all the time he was 
afraid his pants would tear and let him fall. 
He called as loud as he could for a long time 
before he was heard. Then Mr. Martin came 
running to his help, with the other boys fol- 
lowing. He climbed the tree, and, holding 
the trunk of it with one arm, he reached out, 
and, taking Will by the waistband, lifted him 
off the snag that had caught him, set him on 
the limb he had tried to reach, and they both 
climbed down. As soon as he was safe, Mr. 
Martin and the boys rolled over on the grass, 
laughing, because Will had looked so funny, 
hanging like an apple from a tree. And, 
would you believe it? Mr. Squirrel came out 
of his hole and laughed too. 

On Sunday they had their Sunday school 


118 Two Weeks in Camp 

lesson and songs, followed by some beautiful 
Bible stories and a long walk in the woods and 
by the creek, while they learned many things 
from Mr. Martin about God as a wonderful 
Creator and a loving Father. The afternoon 
was spent in innocent play. 

Then came the rainy day. But Mr. Martin 
had counted on that as a possibility, and pre- 
pared for it. As they sat in the large tent he 
taught them how to make papaw whistles, and 
it took at least four different sizes to satisfy 
each boy’s ear for sound. These having been 
blown to their hearts’ content, he brought out 
the material for bows and arrows, and, with 
vivid recollections of his favorite boyhood 
sport, he became the interested teacher of 
quick scholars. By the time the clouds broke 
away in the afternoon they were all ready 
with good bows for target practice, and for 
several days they were truly “R'obin Hood and 
his merry men,” and, though there were no 
“fat bucks” to kill, some fat rabbits and squir- 
rels made them more than one “savory dish.” 

At last the Fourth of July dawned bright 
and clear, and they made it the best as well 
as the last day of their wonderful holiday. Out 


119 


Two Week9 in Camp 

of his box of stores Mr. Martin brought six 
flags, and they put two on the front of each 
tent and gathered around, singing “The Star- 
Spangled Banner,” “My Country, Tis of 
Thee,” and “Dixie.” Then they cheered and 
blew their whistles and tired themselves out 
with racket which left them ready for a bucket 
of lemonade and a basket of cake, which was 
followed up by Mr. Martin with delightful 
stories from American history. The rest of 
the day was given up to doing “just once more” 
all the things they liked best. 

The six boys that left that happy camp 
ground had received from Mr. Martin the 
best gift he could have made them — two 
weeks of innocent happiness and a new knowl- 
edge of God and nature — and the good lasted 
a long time. To be sure, they had done some 
wrong things and they had had some squab- 
bles; but a quiet, firm talk from Mr. Martin 
had made it all right, and they learned to love 
him so much that they wanted to please him 
not only while they were in camp, but after 
they got home. And he always says he had 
the happiest, healthiest, cheapest summer hol- 
iday he ever enjoyed. 


A Glad Thanksgiving Day 

It was a bright, cheery room with its pret- 
ty furniture and rows of books and pictures 
over which fell the soft lamplight blended 
with the ruddier light of the open fire. Yet 
there were two sad faces upon which these 
surroundings brought no smile. The time 
was approaching when the whole nation would 
rejoice and give thanks for the blessings of 
God, but that day was to Mr. and Mrs. Lane 
the anniversary of the saddest event of their 
lives — a day when joy was changed to mourn- 
ing, and ever since there was no response in 
their hearts when the call went out over the 
land : “Come, let us give thanks unto the 
Lord.” Instead, it was kept as a day es- 
pecially dedicated to their sorrow. 

Eighteen years before this story opens they 
had lost their only child — a beautiful little 
girl, four years old — in a terrible steamboat 
disaster on the Mississippi River. And now, 
as they sit in their childless home, another pic- 
ture rises in their minds. Once again they 
( 120 ) 


A Glad Thanksgiving Day 121 

see the lurid flames that enveloped the boat, 
the mad rush of the frightened passengers, 
the swirl of the waves that separated them 
from their child, and the darkness that fol- 
lowed. Then the vain search for weeks for 
the body, and the dying of the hope that lin- 
gered for years that she might be found alive. 
Then a resignation that took up life’s duties 
in which no joy was found. No other child 
had come to help them forget the past, and 
friends had more than once suggested to them 
to adopt a child, with the hope of filling their 
empty hearts and home; but the suggestion 
had always been rejected. 

To-night the thought had been again pre- 
sented to them in a letter from a friend that 
Mr. Lane held in his hand, and for the first 
time their hearts were inclined to take the 
child offered them from the asylum in a near- 
by town. He read aloud in a thoughtful tone: 
“I have often thought of asking you to adopt 
one of these little orphans, thinking it might 
in some measure take the place of your little 
Nina and be a comfort to you and Mrs. Lane 
as you grow old. There has recently come to 
us a pretty little girl about the age of yours. 


122 A Glad Thanksgiving Day 

It may be imagination, but I think she looks 
like her. Her father, who was an artist, has 
been dead several years ; and the mother, after 
a vain effort to support herself and child, is 
now incurably ill. The charity organization 
has provided for her, and sent the child here. 
Poor thing! it was a sad parting for her, but 
it was impossible for the child to remain with 
her. Kate is shy and gentle, and will need 
the love and tenderness I am sure she will find 
in your home. If you will take her, I shall 
send her down on Tuesday by a friend, and you 
will have her with you on Thanksgiving.” 

“No, she could never take Nina’s place,” 
said Mrs. Lane; “but if the poor little thing 
needs us and what we can do for her, we 
might care for her — yes, and after a while 
love her too.” 

“If you would like to have her, dear, I shall 
not object; but suppose we give the matter a 
trial of two months before we decide to keep 
her,” said Mr. Lane. 

“Then I will write at once and ask if it 
can be so arranged; and if so, to send her,” 
quickly responded his wife. 

Tuesday morning found Mr. Lane at the 


A Glad Thanksgiving Day 123 

station to receive Kate; and when he took the 
little brown-haired, blue-eyed girl in his arms 
and felt her clinging around his neck, he too 
was reminded of the little Nina mourned for 
so many years, and before he reached home he 
had decided to keep her. 

The long-repressed mother love welled up 
in Mrs. Lane’s heart as she cared for the help- 
less little stranger with a tenderness that was 
a comfort to her to give as well as to the child 
to receive. Before the day was half gone 
her shyness had worn off and she lisped out 
to the attentive ears of her adopted mother 
bits of the story of her short life. 

In reply to a question as to her full name, 
she said : “Katie Dear.” Then with a quiver 
of her sweet mouth, she added: “My muvver 
said it was her muvver’s name. Her muvver 
and faver were lost when her was jus’ a ’ittle 
tiny girl like me, an’ her never saw ’em any 
more. Wasn’t that bad? They went to 
heaven, I ’spec’, where my faver is. Do you 
fink they know him ?” 

“Yes, I think we shall know each other 
there,” said Mrs. Lane with a sigh. “What 
is your mother’s name ?” 


124 A Glad Thanksgiving Day 

“Jus’ muvver. Don’t you know her? She’s 
been awful sick for a long time, and now her 
heart is broke.” Tears filled the blue eyes as 
she lifted them to Mrs. Lane’s face and added: 
“When her kissed me good-by, her said: ‘My 
heart is broke to give up my baby.’ O, I 
want to see my muvver, I want to see my 
muvver so bad !” Sobbing, she bent her head 
down to Mrs. Lane’s shoulder, and the long- 
empty arms clasped her close. 

“Bless your poor lonely little heart! you 
shall see your mother soon, and she shall see 
her baby.” 

The tear-stained face was lifted up, and, 
smiling, she said: “I fink it’ll mend my muv- 
ver’s heart, don’t you. Did your heart ever 
broke?” 

“Yes, darling. A long time ago I lost a 
little girl just like you, and I felt that my 
heart was broken. Won’t you take her place, 
and make my heart well again ?” 

“O, yes!” exclaimed the child. “I’ll have 
two muvvers, and you’ll be my ’nother muv- 
ver. What was your ’ittle girl named?” 

“Nina. And her eyes were like yours.” 

“Nina? Why, that’s on my muvver’s lock- 


A Glad Thanksgiving Day 125 

et, such a pitty blue locket! An’ it’s got her 
faver’s and muvver’s pictures in it, an’ she 
had it on her neck when Unc’ Jim found her 
in the woods, an’ she didn’t have nothin’ else 
but a nighty on. Now wasn’t that funny ?” 

“Found her? How did she get in the 
woods ?” 

“Unc’ Jim found her layin’ on the ground, 
an’ give her to Mammy Liza, an’ she give her 
to a white lady, an’ she wasn’t good to my 
muvver one bit and sent her away off to a big 
house, where she went to school an’ married 
my faver. An’ I’m their little girl, an’ that’s 
all I know. Won’t you take me to see my 
muvver to-morrow ?” 

Mrs. Lane thought long and earnestly over 
the child’s broken story, and the piteous ap- 
peal to see her mother echoed through her 
heart until she felt as if it were the voice of 
her own child coming to her from the past. 
What if another woman had kept Nina away 
from her? Before she went to bed she said 
to her husband: “Tom, I am going to take 
Katie to see her mother to-morrow, and I am 
thinking we had better adopt the mother too.” 

“What do you mean, Kate ?” 


126 A Glad Thanksgiving Day 

“Why, just this: if we want this child to 
love us in the days to come, we must not let 
her remember that we kept her from her poor, 
dying mother when we might just as well 
have brought her here and let her have the 
joy and comfort of the child’s presence dur- 
ing her last days. And — I don’t know why — I 
feel a strange desire to see the woman. What 
do you say to going to town with me, and, if 
she can be moved, bringing her back with us ?” 

The next day Mrs. Lane and Katie entered 
the room where Mrs. Harlie lay in a reclin- 
ing chair, eagerly expecting them. The child 
flew into her mother’s arms with a glad cry, 
and for a few moments they showered kisses 
and endearments upon one another, while Mrs. 
Lane stood by with streaming eyes and an in- 
articulate cry in her heart : “O, for my child !” 

Mrs. Harlie raised her head and said in a 
sweet voice that sent a thrill through Mrs. 
Lane like long-forgotten music: “Pardon me, 
madam, and let me thank you for bringing 
my child, from whom I thought I was parted 
forever.” 

Mrs. Lane took the emaciated hand, saying 
with deep feeling: “Far be it from me to cause 


A Glad Thanksgiving Day 127 

another to suffer a sorrow like mine! You 
shall see your child often.” 

“It may not be for long that you can grant 
me this great blessing. Then she may be al- 
together yours; and after seeing you, I beg 
that you will keep her. Knowing that, I shall 
die easy. You remind me of one long dead — 
my mother. I was only a little child when we 
were parted, but I remember that her hair and 
eyes were like yours.” 

They talked quietly and softly of the child 
while she played around the room, and grad- 
ually they came to talk of the lost Nina. 

Mrs. Harlie listened with an intent, wonder- 
ing look on her face, and when Mrs. Lane 
finished speaking she said: “How strangely 
like all this is to what I remember of my own 
childhood! I too am named Nina, and as 
you talked I seemed to hear a dream that I 
dreamed long ago. I do not know the name 
of my parents, but will show you their pic- 
tures. I have worn them in this locket all my 
life.” As she drew forth a blue enamel lock- 
et, Mrs. Lane turned very pale and gasped for 
breath. “It is all I have to connect me with a 
buried past, and it was not thought a suf- 


128 A Glad Thanksgiving Day 

ficient clew to lead to anything more, but I 
have sometimes wondered if I might not learn 
through it something of my parents.” 

Mrs. Lane grasped the hand that held the 
locket and said in a trembling voice: “Tell me 
what was in your life like Nina’s.” 

Startled by the other’s emotion, Mrs. Harlie 
said : “When a child I was on a boat with my 
parents, and I remember being snatched from 
my bed and carried in my father’s arms. There 
was a flare of light, then a cold plunge into the 
water. Then I don’t seem to remember any- 
thing clearly until I see myself in a negro 
cabin, which I have been told was in Arkansas. 
How I got there I do not know, only Uncle Jim 
said to me one day that I ought to be named 
Moses, for I came out of the water. But it 
is useless to try to unravel the mystery.” 

Mrs. Lane leaned over and looked at the 
faces in the locket. Then, with a low, glad 
cry, she clasped Mrs. Harlie to her breast. 
“The mystery is solved, my Nina, my long- 
lost darling! These are the miniatures of 
myself and husband, and you are the precious 
baby we sought for so long and at last gave 
up as dead !” 


A Glad Thanksgiving Day 129 

With beaming face Mrs. Harlie looked into 
her mother’s face, exclaiming: “My mother, 
O my mother! I have longed for this meet- 
ing all my life. Hold me in your arms as you 
did long ago, when you used to rock me to 
sleep.” 

Cuddling her head on her mother’s breast, 
she closed her eyes like a resting child, then 
whispered: “But another parting is very 
near.” 

“No, no, my child. Do not talk of leaving 
us. Your father and I have come to take you 
to the old home, and we shall love and nurse 
you back to health and strength. We shall 
go to-morrow and have a blessed Thanks- 
giving day once more.” 

Little Katie had watched the strange scene, 
hardly knowing whether to laugh or cry until, 
her mother having drawn her also into the 
circle of loving arms, she whispered: “Muv- 
ver, is your heart gettin’ mended?” 

“Yes, dearest. It is well, for I have you 
and my dear mother both.” 

“And I’m your grandmother!” exclaimed 
Mrs. Lane as she lifted the child to her knee. 
“And here comes your grandfather. O Tom, 
9 


130 A Glad Thanksgiving Day 

she is our Nina! The lost is found! The 
dead is alive again !” 

“Blessed be the Lord, for his mercy en- 
dureth forever !” cried Mr. Lane, as he gath- 
ered his child to his heart. 

There was not a happier home in all the 
land than Mr. Lane’s on that bright Thanks- 
giving day, and never were more grateful 
hearts lifted in praise to God than those of 
this reunited family. Continually words of 
praise and thanks burst from their lips as 
they clasped each other’s hands and told of 
the love in their hearts. Little Katie, though 
not understanding fully the joy of her elders 
or how she was the unconscious instrument 
of it, was as happy as a little bird, flitting 
from the arms of one to the other. 

Their joy grew as the days went by, and 
Mrs. Harlie gained in health under the fos- 
tering care bestowed upon her, and ever after- 
wards Thanksgiving day was a blessed anni- 
versary to which their hearts turned with a 
gladness that sought to extend to all the 
world the blessings they enjoyed. 


Margie and Mouser 

Little Margie went with her mamma to 
spend the day in the country for the first time 
in her life. All she knew of the green things 
of the earth was the little pave-bounded city 
yards and what she had seen of the park from 
the carriage windows. The only animals she 
was acquainted with were the wretched “alley 
cat” that cried at the kitchen door, but which 
was always “scatted” off in a hurry, and a few 
cross pugs, whose tails seemed to have been 
curled up too tight the night before, and the 
fierce wild animals in the menagerie. 

What a strange delight she felt now as she 
ran, jumped, and shouted over the big lawn, 
where she was told to do as she pleased ! What 
a jolly playfellow Nero, the big Newfound- 
land dog, was, with his laughing bark! But 
the most beautiful of all was a large Maltese 
cat that purred so contentedly when she stroked 
him, and rubbed against her as if he were an 
old friend. How soft and silky his fur, how 
large and yellow his eyes, how white and stiff 
the whiskers (that must not be pulled) stuck 

(13O 


132 Margie and Mouser 

out on each side of his mouth ! Margie looked 
at his feet, but they were only little cushions, 
with no claws to be seen. 

“You are not like that old alley cat, are you, 
Mouser? You wouldn’t scratch a little girl 
jus’ ’cause she wanted to play wiv you, would 
you ?” 

Mouser purred an indistinct “No” to these 
questions and looked very soft and gentle. 

“Mamma said that the tigers and leopards 
were your cousins, but I fink that she must be 
mistaken, ’cause you wouldn’t hurt nuffin’ in 
the world, would you, Mouser?” 

Again Mouser purred “No” in a lazy way 
as he opened and shut his eyes. 

A new thought struck Margie. She took off 
a part of the clothes of the doll that she had 
brought from home and began quickly to dress 
up Mouser for a baby, and O what a cunning 
baby he made in his red skirt and blue jacket! 

“Come, Margie,” called her mamma; “you 
may go down to the station to meet papa, who 
is coming to dinner.” 

“O, that will be fun,” cried Margie. “I will 
take the wagon and give my baby a ride.” 

The baby was Mouser, though the doll was 


Margie and Mouser 133 

put in too, and looked quite contented in one 
corner. Down the plank walk went the hap- 
py party, little Margie’s red mouth full of 
smiles. Mouser had never been taken out to 
ride in such a fashion before ; but after getting 
one ear free from the handkerchief tied over 
his head, he sat quite still under the shawl, 
looking around him. Presently his eyes fell 
upon a cluster of sparrows feeding close to the 
walk and seeming unmindful of his presence. 
The temptation was very great. Mouser put 
both paws outside the shawl, then he shook his 
other ear loose from the cap and fixed his eyes 
keenly on the birds. Margie turned just in 
time to see them glare like two balls of yellow 
fire, then like a flash Mouser sprang out of the 
wagon among the sparrows. O how comical 
he looked flying through the air with his long 
tail sticking out from under the red skirt! No 
wonder the birds did not recognize their enemy 
in that rig and got caught. A merry peal of 
laughter burst from Margie, who had stopped 
in astonishment ; then she cried out in distress : 
“O, he has caught a bird!” Running to the 
rescue, she begged: “Don’t kill it, Mouser, 
please don’t kill it !” 


134 Margie and Mouser 

But the gentle Mouser showed his kinship 
to the tiger now, holding fast to the bird with 
the sharp claws that now stuck out from his 
velvety feet, and his soft purr was changed to 
a growl as Margie tried to pull it away. 

“O you bad cat ! you shan’t kill the poor little 
bird!” cried the child, though she was getting 
frightened at the change in her baby. “I don’t 
love you any more !” 

Mouser continued to growl, then to spit, and 
at last struck the little hand with one of his 
paws. Then Margie began to cry, for the 
sharp claws had gone through the glove into 
her hand. It hurt so badly that she could not 
even laugh as Mouser, who, in trying to run 
away with the bird, got tangled in his dress 
and tumbled over on the ground, a helpless 
bundle of “red, white, and blue.” 

But some one else laughed very heartily, and 
Margie’s father caught her up in his arms and 
kissed away her tears. Then they caught 
Mouser, who seemed quite humble and a little 
frightened when he found that he could not 
use his legs, and allowed himself to be put back 
in the wagon and hauled home. 


The Rescue 


Down on the sandy beach ran Bettie, with 
Charlie at her heels, to gather shells. They had 
come from an inland town for the first time to 
the seashore, and looked with delight at the 
novel sight before them. ■ What a wonderful, 
heaving water the ocean was ! How soft and 
white the sand under their feet ! And O how 
many beautiful shells lay scattered around! 
Bettie clapped her hands with delight, and she 
and her little brother began eagerly to gather 
the shells in their baskets. 

“O, what a great big one !” she cried. 

“Look at my pretty shell/’ chimed in Charlie. 

“Here is a teensy-weensy pink one !” 

“I have a purple one !” 

“O, see that funny one !” 

“Here is one that shuts up like a box !” 

And so they chattered like two magpies as 
they ran here and there, delighting in the abun- 
dance of their treasures. All the time they 
were getting farther and farther away from 
the house, until at last they were far out on a 

(135) 


136 


The Rescue 


long strip of land that ran out into the sea. 
Their baskets being filled at last, they turned 
to go home, but to their surprise the water was 
all around them. The tide had risen, and the 
water had crept in over the sand behind them, 
and they were cut off from the shore. 

“We are on an island !” exclaimed Bettie. 

“Let’s have it for our little island,” said 
Charlie gleefully. 

“How will we get home?” said Bettie in a 
troubled tone. 

“I want to see my mamma!” cried Charlie, 
his smiles changing to tears. 

The water was shallow still, and they might 
have gone through it with no worse hurt than 
wet feet, but they did not know this ; and while 
they stood there in their fright and uncertainty 
the tide was rising higher and higher, and the 
island was growing smaller and smaller, and 
their danger was growing greater every mo- 
ment. As the waves dashed up close to their 
feet they began to scream for help. Then, when 
no help seemed near, Bettie remembered the 
verse her grandma taught her that morning: 
“The Lord is a very present help in time of 
trouble.” Looking up in the midst of her sobs. 


The Rescue 


137 


she prayed: “0 Lord, we are in a time of 
trouble; please help us or send somebody to 
get us ; and please send 'em quick.” 

Already help was coming. Their screams 
had been heard by a fisherboy who was going 
along the shore with his fish-net on his back. 
Seeing the danger the children were in, he ran 
with all his might through the water to their 
help. 

“Run,” he cried, seizing Charlie by the hand. 
But Charlie would not put his feet in the water. 

“No, no,” he sobbed ; “I'll get all drownded.” 

They encouraged, they begged, but down he 
sat and wouldn't move an inch. 

“We will have to tote him;,” said the boy; 
“but I can’t tote him and the net too.” 

“Let’s put him in the net, and I'll help you 
carry him,” said brave Bettie. “Come, Char- 
lie,” she said coaxingly to the frightened child, 
“get into the net and we will play that you are 
a fish we have caught.” 

Without a word the little fellow jumped in, 
and they started quickly for the shore. Bettie 
felt the weight of the load, and she shivered 
with fear as she felt the water dashing over 
her feet and legs, but she kept bravely on, her 


138 


The Rescue 


heart trusting in God, and soon they reached 
the shore safe and sound. 

Then Charlie, forgetting that he was a fish, 
popped up his head and said joyously: “Bettie, 
ain’t we so glad we didn’t get drownded?” 

“We might have, except for the boy,” said 
Bettie, looking gratefully at him. Then she 
added in a lower tone: “And ’twas God sent 
him.” 

Not content with thanking the boy them- 
selves, they made him go with them to see their 
mother, who wept tears of joy and thankful- 
ness when she heard of the great danger from 
which her children had been rescued. To the 
boy she showed her gratitude in many kind 
ways that filled his heart with gladness. To 
God there went up from that home that night 
songs and prayers of thanksgiving, and the 
children learned for their “little pillow” verse 
the following words, so full of meaning to 
them: “He sent from above, he took me, and 
he drew me out of many waters.” 


Baby Robert 

“Rosa, nurse has gone to see her sick sister* 
and I must go into town for the cans for my 
peaches ; so, little daughter, you must take good 
care of Baby Robert while I am gone. Do not 
leave him alone, for you don’t know what mis- 
chief he will be at.” 

Rosa was in the next room painting some 
paper dolls, and did not want to give up her 
play-work, so she came in at her mother’s call 
with quite a frown on her pretty face. After 
her mother was gone she said crossly : “I wish 
your nurse was here to take care of you, you 
troublesome baby. I want to paint.” Rosa 
had forgotten the verse that she had learned 
that morning: “Little children, love one an- 
other.” 

Baby Robert, a chubby, blue-eyed, sugar- 
plum of a two-year-old boy, was not used to 
hearing his sister speak in this way to him. 
He saw that something was wrong, he did 
not know what, and did the only thing that 
he knew how to make wrong things right — 

(139) 


140 Baby Robert 

just put up his little mouth and lisped: “Me 
want tiss oo.” 

“No,” said Rosa; “I don’t feel like kissing 
you. I wish you would go to sleep.” 

But Baby Robert had no thought of going 
to sleep just then. He gazed a moment at his 
sister, then began to pull the cover off the 
table. Rosa sprang forward and drew him 
away roughly. The next moment he snatched 
up a handful of her paper dolls. 

“O, you bad, bad baby!” she cried as she 
rescued her treasures. “I wish that a bear 
would come and eat you up.” 

“Bear turn an’ eat Robert a-1-1 up? Rob- 
ert ky.” And the little lips began to pucker. 

“No,” said Rosa; “the bear won’t come if 
Robert is good.” 

“Me be dood. Do away, bear.” Waving 
away the imaginary bear, he climbed into a 
chair and was still for two minutes, when his 
eyelids began to droop and he whined : “Me so 
s’eepy.” 

At this welcome word Rosa hastened to put 
him on the bed. In a few moments he was 
sound asleep, and she slipped off to her paint- 
ing in the next room, where, of course, she 


141 


Baby Robert 

would hear him as soon as he waked. She 
did not notice that the wind blew the door 
shut after a while, but the noise awoke Baby 
Robert, and, after rolling around on the bed 
and calling for mamma and nurse without at- 
tracting any attention, he decided to go out 
on the porch in search of adventures. There 
was no mischief to be found there, so, picking 
up a doll baby, he trotted off down the garden 
walk to get a hollyhock hat for it. Roses, 
pinks, geraniums all suffered on his way until 
he came to the back gate. It was open, and 
out he went into the meadow. O how bold 
and free he felt in that large place all by him- 
self! He would catch that pretty butterfly, 
so he would. But how fast it flew. His little 
feet could not keep up with it. Straight on 
they both went down to the river bank. There 
he lost it, but what was that he heard close by ? 

“Quack, quack! Peep, peep!” 

Robert wanted to know very much, so down 
on his hands and knees he went and crept out 
to the end of a little pier that stood over the 
water's edge. O what glossy green and 
black and white ducks were there with their 
fluffy little ones ! 


142 


Baby Robert 

“Turn here, oo seet itty duckies. Robert 
wants to tiss oo,” cooed baby, stretching down 
his little fat hands to the ducks. 

“Quack, quack !” said the old ducks, looking 
up at him. 

“Peep, peep !” said the little ones and swam 
out into the water. 

“Oo mus’ be dood, itty duckies. Ole bear 
eat oo up if oo don’t turn here.” Closer and 
closer to the edge of the plank crept the baby. 
Farther and farther he reached after the ducks, 
when — down he went into the water with a 
splash and frightened cry that scattered the 
ducks. 

A few moments before that Rosa had gone 
to look after Baby Robert, and, finding him 
gone, had run here and there looking for him. 
With a white, frightened face she met her 
mother coming in. “O mamma!” she cried, 
“I’ve lost Baby Robert, and I am afraid that a 
bear has eaten him up sure enough.” 

“What do you mean, my child?” exclaimed 
Mrs. Brent, much alarmed. 

“He was bad,” sobbed Rosa, “and I told 
him that the bear would eat him — and he went 
to sleep — and I left him — and I can’t find him.” 


143 


Baby Robert 

Mrs. Brent joined the search, and, tracking 
him by the broken flowers through the garden 
gate, she caught sight of the little white figure 
upon the pier. She ran swiftly toward him, 
but feared to call him lest he might turn around 
and fall. Then she saw him fall and heard his 
frightened cry. In another instant she dashed 
into the water and caught the floating white 
bundle in her arms. The water was deep 
enough to drown the baby, but Mrs. Brent 
could wade out; and when Rosa saw her with 
the precious little fellow in her arms she sobbed 
for joy, and, throwing her arms around him, 
cried: “O, you darlingest baby! I’ll never 
leave you again and say that I won’t kiss you.” 

Baby Robert stretched out his arms to her 
and said cooingly: “Don’t oo ky, Rosie; Rob- 
ert won’t ’et de bear eat oo up.” 






\ 












* 









1*1 













































































































































• 

• 
















11 19H 



















